Doctors: Diary of a Quack Magnet
Some doctors can be very nice and pleasant while others can be complete arrogant asses. Unfortunately my experiences with doctors have involved mostly the latter along with some very bizarre encounters that will leave you thinking I’m either weaving a grand tale or that I’m quite insane. Today was a monumental day for me, for today I took a stand against the arrogant rudeness that I personally find uncalled for and intolerable in a doctor. These are people who should be compassionate and kind to people since they are “healers.” I’ll tell you about my final stand against arrogance and quackery shortly, but first I want to take you on a journey that details some bizarre experiences I’ve had with doctors, and you will see that this surely qualifies me as a quack magnet.
Doctor Nice Guy
The very first doctor I ever had was Dr. Nice Guy. What a wonderful man he was, and we developed a very comfortable relationship that went beyond his crush on my mother. He crushed on her hard too. He was my doctor for the first 20 years of my life, and he never increased the cost of his office visits over that entire time. I’m willing to venture a guess that he would have even considered live chickens in payment if that’s all I could offer. However, he retired as all good doctors eventually do, and I had to find someone new.
Enter Doctor Dime Bag
I first met Dr. Dime Bag while doing some part-time work at a local hospital. He was cute, young, funny, and we shared a table in the cafeteria on several occasions. I liked his personality, so when it came time for me to investigate birth control methods, I picked him as my gynecologist. Things went very well for a short while, then I developed a problem that required immediate attention, and he was very efficient and attentive. He even called me at home late one evening to check on me to make sure I was alright. How cool is that? When I returned for my follow-up visit, I was first escorted to his office by the nurse who then left and closed the door.
The first thing I spotted was a bag of marijuana on his desk. Yes, I knew exactly what pot was since my husband (at that time) was a pothead, and there was no mistaking the green stuff that appeared to be a dime bag laying on his desk in a Glad sandwich bag…the kind with no zipper. This was the open flap type that you roll up then lick the edge to make it stick to the bag. Yea, I know about that too. Only this bag wasn’t folded up, and it appeared to have been dipped into and was left carelessly gaping open on the desk.
This made me feel a little uneasy, I mean he was my hoo-hoo doctor and I didn't want him stoned when he was, well, you know...he might get confused and leave something in there. However, I was giggling and wondering how he was going to react when he came in and discovered his stash was so visible. I wasn’t disappointed. He came in all smiles as usual, but his smile turned into a frown as he sat down behind his desk, then opened a desk drawer and scooped the dime bag quickly away. I could see he was a bit flustered, so he began by asking me the first most logical question, “Are you still experiencing any symptoms associated with your problem?”
I told him that everything seemed to be resolved except for the lower back pain that began with the onset of the problem. This sent him into a realm of unexpected craziness, and he grew red in the face as he yelled at me, “I have back pain too! Some days it’s hard to even bend over to tie my shoes!”
This shocked me in such a way that the only thing I wanted to do was leave. He was the one who asked, I simply answered the question, and I highly doubted that his back pain was related to a uterus. Once he was done demonstrating how difficult it was to tie his shoes at times, I simply left and never returned. It's really a shame he had to go nuts like that, because I probably could have hooked him up with some decent Monkey Paw.
Enter Doctor Woman-hater
It was a long time before I attempted to go to a gynecologist again, but after getting divorced I was weary with traditional birth control methods, so I thought that having a tubal ligation might be a good idea. I had no desire to be married ever again much less pregnant, so I made an appointment with Dr. Woman-hater. Of course I didn’t know he hated women until the first appointment with this old coot who had a permanent scowl on his face and looked at me like I was the most disgusting creature on earth. It was very strange. I went in to discuss the possibility of getting my tubes tied, and he spent the entire visit trying to convince me to have a hysterectomy. There was no medical reason for me to have a hysterectomy, I just wanted a simple way to not get pregnant…ever, but I didn’t want to lose body parts in the process. That was indeed my first red flag that he was a woman-hater. He wanted to rip my womanhood from me.
Sadly, I had to make a second appointment with him because of an emergency, and I didn’t want to take the time to go through that “first time patient” crap with another doctor. Big mistake. My emergency that day was related to not being able to relieve my bladder for almost 2 days. I couldn’t pee for the life of me. He must have been having a really bad day, because he wasn’t happy with me or my bladder, and he shoved a catheter up my wee-wee with such roughness that I cried. He didn’t like that either and he told me to grow up and stop behaving like a baby. I knew I’d never go back to him again, but even knowing that didn’t matter for long because I read in the newspaper about 6 months later that he had shot himself in the head. Crazy bast*rd.
Enter Doctor Feelgood
After my mean, woman-hater doctor was dead, I didn't bother looking for another one, but then a day came when I developed a slight problem with my hoo-hoo. This time I asked around to get advice about which doctor I should see, and Dr. Feelgood was highly recommended. I had a good feeling about this one from the start. There was no long wait in the waiting room, and I was almost immediately taken to an examining room. After taking my clothes off and putting on a drafty gown, I sat for at least 45 minutes waiting…all the while hearing piano music being played from another room. This slightly confused me since I was the only patient there. The waiting room was empty when I got called back. At last, Dr. Feelgood entered, and he apologized for making me wait, but he dramatically explained that he was practicing a song that he would be performing (somewhere) later in the week. Regardless of the red flag waving in front of me, the man seemed very pleasant, so I quickly forgave him for making me wait while he practiced his little song. At least he was smiling.
The examination began, and thankfully my hoo-hoo was okay. However, it (my hoo-hoo) also must have been viewed upon as being rather vagilicious because during the exam he kept rubbing his groin on my right foot which was held captive in a stirrup. My mind was instantly bombarded with questions:
Is he doing this on purpose? Is it an accident that his pee-pee keeps rubbing my foot? Am I making too much out of this? Where's the damned nurse?
My questions were abruptly stopped by the distinct feeling that he was getting all erectificated on my foot. I bolted up and off of the examining table and told him that I was done with the exam. He in turn, as if nothing was wrong, insisted on examining my breasts, and I assured him that my chesticulars were quite fabulous; in fact I was taking them out for some shopping and ice cream. I started dressing as he continued to argue the point about having a breast exam and out the door I flew...never to return.
There have been many others, like Dr. Guido Wannabe, a very round Italian man who always wore a heavy gold chain around his thick neck, an unbuttoned shirt exposing a few chest hairs, and pants so tight that he literally waddled. He was nice, but he ended up running off with a mail order bride from South America. Of course, Dr. Hypochondriac was one of the more interesting doctors I encountered. He spent more time talking about his health problems than in trying to figure out what mine were. He ended up disappearing too. One day the doors to his practice were locked and never reopened because he had vanished. I was then forced to give Dr. Gooftard a try, but that didn’t last long. Each visit, and they were few, would have him jumping up and down with excitement about the fact that I was really sick. He’d say, “Finally! I get a patient who’s actually sick!” Then I’d have to listen to stories about how his days are swamped with people who aren’t sick at all. As if I care, just fix me!
A Liberating Hissy Fit
Today I put my foot down with one of these quacky doctors. After firing the doctor I’ve been seeing for the past year, I went to a different one this week…Dr. Riley, and no I’m not going to cover up her identity with a funny fake name. Oh what a haughty, snooty, arrogant b@tch she was, and she had a mustache too. That was very distracting. However, regardless of her facial hair, everything was actually fine until towards the end when she insisted on doing some blood work, which I agreed to have done, and I made my usual request by asking, "Could you please have Nurse Tonya draw my blood because I have horrible veins and no other nurse has ever been able to draw my blood successfully."
Dr. Riley’s reaction was not nice and her tone was rude as she huffed and said, “We have plenty of great nurses here who are more than capable of drawing your blood, and I will send one of them in shortly.” I immediately told her that I’ve been through all of her “great” nurses and only ONE can do the job. This made the doctor get those crazy eyes, and as she was leaving the room she glared at me and said, "I don’t even know if Tonya is here, and I have another patient to see.” The door slammed closed.
I don’t know why she had such an attitude with me, but I did know that I would not sit there and take one more moment of her attitude. Swinging the door open, I nearly ran the doctor over as I rushed out the door to leave. Of course she wanted to know where I was going, and I happily told her, “You just copped a horrible attitude with me over a very simple request and I don’t appreciate being treated that way, so I'm leaving."
Maintaining her air of snootiness, she proceeded to tell me how she’s very busy and works with patients on 15 minutes blocks, and she had just spent a whole 20 minutes with me, all of which had nothing to do with my simple request. Finally, in a very arrogant tone she said, "Would you like to calm down and return to the examining room so that we can discuss this?”
I could tell she was working overtime to not explode. You know, to show me that she was the bigger person by maintaining her composure while I, obviously an idiot who had the nerve to request a specific nurse, was clearly losing my cool. I put my hand on her arm, and with equal composure I said, “No, I don’t think I want to discuss anything else with you. You were quite rude to me and I have no time or patience for that, but this means you can have some extra time with your other patients since you no longer have me to worry about...I hope you use your free time wisely.”
So there! It’s over! No more quack doctors for me. I’ll fire every single one of them until I get a real human being who treats people with respect and kindness, like our beloved and quite handsome hubber Dr. Benson Yeung.
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