Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Laughter is the best medicine. But modern drugs are also pretty damn fantastic.

"You have a really big uvula!" my doctor told me this morning, his voice filled with awe.

I replied, "If you're going to talk like that, at least buy me a drink first."

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No. I did not say that. I thought it. But I kept my mouth shut, thereby disappointing my husband.

"I'd only met the guy 3 minutes beforehand. We had no rapport." I answered Mr Wrath's query of "Why didn't you say that? That would've been funny!"

Also I am 40 now and the doctor was significantly younger and I really, really don't want to be labelled a Cougar. That's what happens when you hit 40: you start to be concerned about unseemly behaviour.

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This is actually the second time I have returned home from the doctor's office and immediately called my husband with a story. The last time was almost exactly 10 years ago, after the birth of our second child when I went to my doctor for a pap smear.

After the smearing of the pap (honestly, I have no idea what a pap smear technically entails so please do your own research on the topic and then go get one -- provided you are female), the doctor and his nurse/witness left the cubicle so I could change out of my paper gown. A few minutes later the doctor returned, clipboard in hand. He asked me a few questions about my general well-being, my moods, the baby, and so on. Then he went to make a note on my chart.

He reached into the left hand pocket of his lab coat. Then the right. Then the left breast pocket. Then the right.

"Huh. I can't find my pen."



Again he search those pockets.

"I just had it a minute ago."

He pulled back the edge of his lab coat, reaching into the front pockets of his trousers. Then the back ones. All the while muttering. "I know I had it when I came in. It's my favourite pen. Where could it be?"

He dropped to his knees and began to peer under the furniture.

"I swear I just had it."

He stomped on the lever of the garbage can, the lid swung open and he peered hopefully inside. "Where could I have left it?"

This entire time I was sitting on the edge of the examining table. My lips clamped between my teeth. My face bright red with suppressed mirth.

Finally he turned to me and said, "Do you kno--" and stopped short.

If this was a comedy sketch or a rom-com movie I would have replied with a shrug of the shoulders or quipped "Search me!"

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

And I didn't need to, because as soon as he made eye contact with me, he knew exactly what was going through my head.

"AAAH! Here it is!" he said suddenly aware that it was in the front pocket of his dress shirt. "Great. Good bye.  We'll see you in a few weeks!" and he hustled out the door with admirable speed. And I melted into a puddle of goo -- laughing-like-a-maniac goo.

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Anyway back to my big uvula...

I am mostly recuperated from having the flu, all that remains is my cough. This isn't particularly alarming to me, because I have a lot of difficulty in shaking coughs. Long after the rest of the family is back in fighting form, I'm still coughing. Today I went to the doctor, not for the cough, but because I hurt my back WHILE coughing. More particularly I have strained muscles in my back, torso, chest, breast, upper arm, and ARMPIT. The blame lies with that stupid  "Cover Your Cough" pose were suppose to strike:

I am 40, I have a big uvula and I got the flu despite getting the flu shot -- HAVEN'T I SUFFERED ENOUGH?! Do I also need to contort my body into this ungainly position? And honestly -- is it really all that more effective (at preventing the spread of germs) than coughing into the back of your hand?  If we're going to get serious about spreading the flu, these need to be funded by Health Canada:



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And now I'm off to bed, just me and my big uvula, my new puffer and my codeine ("Those muscles are never going to heal if you are coughing constantly. We need to treat that first." said the doctor about my chronic cough). 

So...good night.