Important Medical Tools *snicker*
Yesterday I had my annual physical with the doctor.
Unfortunately, the good doctor was detained by the patient in the room next door. The gent had experienced complications from drinking too much over the holidays, and in the follow-on checkup meeting wanted to (loudly) argue with his doctor about reducing his alcohol intake.
New Year’s resolutions and all that, I suppose.
Anyhoo…when you leave me in a tiny medical cubicle for over an hour wearing only a rear ventilated paper gown, I’m oh-so very much going to find ways to amuse myself.
Herewith, a photographic treasury from my appointment.
Once I’d gotten myself settled into my paper gown and black socks (a hot look, I can assure you) I shifted my heiney up onto the exam table, where I was instructed to wait.
The first thing my gaze fell upon was this:
That doesn’t…look, um, right. I mean, I live in a first world nation. What exactly are these barbaric tools doing just lying about?
And how exactly is the item on the left is incorporated into the items center and right?
Wait, don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know.
Yes, I know that one is a tuning fork to check my hearing and one is a reflex tester to whack at my knee. But do I really need to be lubed up for all that?!?
Which made me start to shiver like a Chihuahua in my little blue gown.
THEN my gaze landed here:
Um. Is that applied to the air? Or is that applied to me? I showered. I’m fresh as a daisy. Honest.
And then you have to think…in a medical facility…they probably get some odors you don’t want to know about.
So I *quickly* shifted my gaze.
Oh, look, there is a rack of brochures! Who doesn’t love a nice brochure?
Whoa. What’s this?
Is this a cautionary tale? Don’t get the piles, kids, or you’ll look like this guy!
Hemorrhoids make you a zombie!! *rooowwwrrrr*
That photo is so wrong. So, so wrong.
And the copy of a copy of a copy gives it such a backoffice, off-label, ‘roid whacking assembly line feeling that doesn’t make me love my current health care provider.
I quickly started digging in the cabinets to find another paper gown to put on backwards, just to cover stuff up. No luck, they must dole out those tiny gowns in the smallest possible increments.
“You know…I’m feeling *fine*…I am fit as a fiddle! I’m just going to go home now, mmmkay?”
If you see a lady sprinting down the road in a tattered blue paper gown and black socks, look away. I’m working out some issues.