Home > The Goofy Book 3: Writing Experiments > Doctor Visits and Stormy Weather

Doctor Visits and Stormy Weather

The title of this post alone should hint that neither of these nouns share an immediate connection and therefore no relation in the following subject matter. Sure, you may be able to imagine some far fetched relationship involving the two, but I wouldn’t recommend trying too hard to impress me. Show me how you got the ring off of those intertwining metal puzzles found in patient waiting rooms or how to paint anything without getting a single drop on your clothes and I’ll be impressed enough to grant you a five second long mildly curious and shocked expression. I may even ask how you did that, but we’re not making any promises at this point in time.

Without any transition material thought up I might as well mention how  submissive we become at the doctor’s office. Unless you plan on entering the health-care threshold with the sole intention of working up some poor malpractice lawsuit against the physicians, you’re practically at their mercy throughout the duration of your visit. Even as you approach the woman at the front desk (or the occasional man at the front desk, I’m all in favor of equality) you begin blabbing out a mindfuck of your subjective symptoms and reasons why you must be seen before every other dying person patiently waiting. The front desk is going to assign you the next number in line regardless of the speed marathon speech you just delivered, but maybe unabashedly coughing directly into their face after swearing on your contagious airborne cooties would get you a little closer to seeing the doctor. I think they get joy in watching the exasperated look on your allegedly sick face as they tell you, “You can have a seat in the waiting room and the doctors will be with you shortly,” and deep down in your stomach (why you’d have feels other than “upset” and “happy” coming from your stomach I have no idea) that you’ll have to mindlessly read eight drastically outdated Time magazines before you’re seen.

The constant plethora of eerie moaning heard within the waiting room feels as if you’re being assaulted by ghosts while digging up a casket rumored to contain copious amounts of gold and a rare, limited edition cookbook written by Arnold Schwarzenegger (even if I could tell you exactly which box six feet under held these items, attempting to retrieve these items is called grave-robbing and it’s frowned upon in our society). As soon as you start regretting any activity that may have led to your minor ailment, sleeping with your cold feet outside of the covers to soliciting that hooker with curious red bumps on her lips, then the doctor will finally call you to the back. It should be common sense, but don’t you ever walk into the back area without their approval and supervision or else you’ll find a panic of nurses screaming at you to return to the lobby… it’s a secret white coat & thermometer club back there and only when they’re ready shall you be admitted.

After you’re instructed to follow the nurse out of the waiting room and into the check-out rooms, they simply leave you there. Alone. You went from a public waiting room to a private waiting room like you didn’t play well with the other kids and your mother sent you to time-out. Not only that, but they left you with thousands of dollars worth of medical equipment and useless, pocketable items just lying around. I don’t even know if there’s cameras in the average doctor’s office so who knows how many tongue depressors and cotton balls people have slipped into their klepto pockets.

Once the doctor walks in you’ll be asked how you’re feeling and once again, as if by rehearsal, you’ll repeat the same long-winded story you did to the receptionist when you first arrived. Well, really you’ll give a slightly shorter version of your self-diagnosis because you had time to widdle it down to the important parts. This should get you asking why you’re even seeing the doctor if you’re apparently able to tell him exactly what’s wrong with you and what medicine you’ll need because you researched it on Yahoo! Answers and that is always a sane group of reliable sources. When you notice the doctor writing notes claiming, “Patient says they are experiencing ____ symptoms,” instead of, “Patient is exhibiting symptoms of ____,” you again begin desperately trying to convince the other person in the room that you truly don’t feel good and that you’re not as crazy as you might sound. Of course they can diagnose this too. You are at their mercy, and it is about time you come to terms with this inevitability.

And now that you’ve had time to wonder how doctors and rain were possibly connected, I can still confidently tell you that there’s no connection here that would matter. I only wanted to point out my love for rain and storms on a warm spring or summer night. As a thirteen year old kid I decided that I wanted to be called The Lord Of The Rain for no particular reason other than I enjoyed splashing around in puddles underneath a downpour while all my other friends would be scampering to find dry shelter. Even now I still like standing outside in the rain, sometimes staying dry on the porch, sometimes get drenched frolicking about in the grass, and it came to me that it’s actually been a few weeks shy of a year since the last time I remember wanting to dance out under the stormy night. It’ll always be a relaxing feeling. However, the only downside to these pleasant rainy nights is the mass of the drowning ground worms that desperately sought their way to our surface sidewalks only to suffer their above ground tomb in the treads of my shoes.

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  1. Alli-cat
    2011/04/10 at 1:23 pm

    Geoff…I really wonder about you sometimes…Lord of the rain..really?…Anyway, you have the strangest imagination or thought process when you got to the Drs. I know the Drs office is a common place for you because you are prone to every illness that is half a mile from you=)..but I would love to see what pathway your neurons are traveling to from the second you walk in the office until you leave.

    For instance, I just broke my leg and here is my experience in the ER. I crutch myself into the ER and tell the guy at the front desk that I hurt my ankle in my soccer game that night. They tell me to sit down and I wait my turn like everyone else and I am just grateful that I am not the one that is being brought in a stretcher…which means I would automatically be first in line. Even though the two people in front of me have a cold and I am pretty sure that my broken leg trumps them, I just sit there and read the crappy magazines. They call me back to take my temperature and blood pressure and I am just happy that I am getting closer to seeing the doctor and by no means do I feel like I am being punished..weirdo…=)..My leg is really starting to hurt so I turn my self upside down in the bed to keep the pressure off my leg because I need to keep my leg above my heart. Then the doctor comes in and asks me how I am feeling because that is his JOB!! ..this is not rehearsal practice ..he might already know I have an ankle/leg problem because I have ice on it and I am upside down..but it is also called bedside manor..Then they take me back to get my x-rays and tell me it will be a few minutes..or an hour until the results are in. The doctor comes back to tell me that I broke my leg and I was like you are kidding right! Because I cannot have a broken leg right now! He shows me the xray then proceeds to tell me that there is not ortho surgeon and he is going to send me home with a broken leg and that I need to schedule an app with one the next day to get it casted! But good news is that I dont need surgery…

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