Went to see my general practitioner for my yearly check-up today.
Doctor: “Are you still taking Prozac for depression and anxiety?”
Me: “Yes, 30mg.”
Doctor: “Hmmmm. That’s more than you were taking last year.”
Doctor: “But you just got married?”
Doctor: “Well that’s a happy event! That didn’t help the depression?”
Me: “It was a happy event. I’m not sure what that has to do with my mental illness.”
Doctor: “I would just think the wedding would boost your spirits, no?”
Me: “It did. It also boosted my husband’s spirits– and yet, wouldn’t you know it, he still has diabetes!”
Yeah, so. I need a new doctor.
Me: “Can I drink coffee with the Invisalign in?”
What the dentist said: “No. It will stain them. If you drink liquids with the braces in, they need to be clear liquids.”
What I heard: “Instead of coffee, start your morning with white wine.”
Don’t mind if I do!
Xray technician: “Ok, hold still, face forward, I’m going to take an xray of your neck.”
(pause as she takes xray)
Xray technician (looking at xray): “What the…?! What IS that?”
Me: “Oh my god, what?!”
Xray technician: “There’s a huge mass on the xray, right where I’m trying to get the photo.”
Me: “A mass?!”
Xray technician: “Yeah…right…Ohhh, oh oh. It’s your bun.”
Me: “My hair?”
Xray technician: “Yeah. Try putting your hair all the way up on the top of your head. My bad.”
Me: “Jesus, you scared me. Did you have to use the word ‘mass’?!”
Xray technician (laughing): “Sorry about that. It’s been a long Monday. You know how it is.”
No. No I do NOT.
I’ve been complaining about my frequent urination issues for a while now, so, urged by friends and family, I finally went to see a urologist.
Urologist: “So what seems to be the problem?”
Me: “I have to pee ALL the time. Way too much. Way too often.”
Urologist: “It sounds like you might have overactive bladder.”
Me: “No, I KNOW I have an overactive bladder. That’s what I’m saying. That’s the only symptom. My bladder is overactive.”
Urologist: “Right, but I’m saying, that means you probably have Overactive Bladder. That’s the name of the condition.”
Me: “Are you serious?”
Me: “So they just took the one symptom and named the condition that?”
Urologist: “Well…yes. Essentially.”
Me: “That seems lazy.”
Urologist: “I’m sorry you’re disappointed.”
Me: “So I just paid to hear things I already know. Things anyone who knows me knows.”
Me: “Is your job even real?”
He’s doing a cystoscopy on me next week. But I’m pretty sure he recommended it just so he could say a big, medical-y term I’ve never heard of and prove his job is real.
I’m on to you, pee doctor.
Eleven days ago I had a biopsy done because my doctor saw something that looked, as he so eloquently and not at all alarmist-ly put it, “less than impressive” (what every woman wants to hear from a man staring up-close at her half-naked body…but I digress).
Since then, I have spent 11 days googling and thought-spiraling myself into a diagnosis of about 568 different versions of cancer. (Are there even that many kinds of cancer, you ask? Well, the answer is YES, if you count all the varying combinations one could have. Because some people have ankle cancer and eyebrow cancer at the same time, guys). So in the past week and a half, I’ve been having pounding heart palpitations, shortness of breath, sweating profusely, plagued by nightmares, and overall haven’t been able to relax. At all.
My doctor just called and everything is completely fine. The results were 100% normal.
So clearly, there’s a lesson here.
If you make yourself sick enough with worry and completely destroy your mental health (and the mental health/patience/will to live of those around you) for 11 solid days, God will say “Ok, everyone here has suffered enough” and reward you with a clean bill of physical health.
So YOU’RE WELCOME FOR THE ADVICE.
Things you don’t want to hear your psychiatrist say when you tell her you have the flu:
“Wow. You get sick more than anyone I know.”
(Continuation of Doctors Love Me)
After diagnosing me with the flu, doctor leaves room to get prescription pad, comes back to see me sobbing.
Doctor: “Why are you crying?”
Me: “I don’t know. It’s just something that happens.”
Doctor: “It’s just the flu. You thought you had cancer. This is good news!”
Me: “I know” (crying harder).
Doctor: “Ok, go home and get some rest.” (hands me Tamiflu script)
Me: “Can you prescribe anything for the crying?”
Doctor: (checking my chart) “Looks like you’re already taking it.”
Doctor: “What brings you here today?”
Me: “A Web MD search gone horribly wrong.”
Doctor: “Ah. So– cancer?”
Me: “Four different kinds. One in an organ I didn’t know existed.”
Doctor: “So you have a cold. Maybe the flu.”
Me: “I really don’t think so. It feels worse.”
Doctor: “It feels worse because you’ve googled yourself into a state of hysteria.”
Me: “With all due respect, I think I know my body.”
I have the flu.