Sunday, November 1, 2009

Don't Call Us, We'll Call You...In Your Dreams

It's the day after Hallowe'en, which means that I've been chilling in bed eating package after package of Popeye's cigarettes (my costume was delicious, as well as cheap) and watching 8 (update: 9) episodes of "House." As I've said, "House" is my recovery porn: bad shit happens to people, shit gets worse, test after test confirms nothing, but everything works out in the end and, also, everyone is very good-looking. Also, the doctors tend to psychoanalyze their own motivations in agonizing detail, (resulting in such clunky lines as, "When you run out of questions you don't just run out of answers, you run out of hope"), which is an intellectual exercise I wouldn't mind if Dr. ___ engaged in every once in awhile. Also, somber music plays whenever something bad's about to happen, which would be handy.

Last night, I had a dream that Dr. ____ was refusing to call me because he's been reading my blog and is pissed off by my snarky analysis of his doctoring abilities. (The fact that Dr. ___ has infiltrated my subconscious suggests I'm perhaps putting in too much effort into SurgeonWatch2009. I somehow doubt that Dr. ___ is waking up in a cold sweat wondering why he can't stop dreaming of his zombie-walking patient trying to eat his brains while chanting, "Cure").

Anyhow, if Dr. ___ is reading this blog, then a) he obviously has too much time on his hands and should invest a little more interest in the whole "me not walking like a polio-stricken zombie" business in order to alleviate his boredom and b) he should be aware that while I am certainly snarky, I try my best to be fair. Do I direct my snark superpowers towards my physiotherapists? No. Why? Because they're doing their jobs with competence, compassion and empathy. Do I trash talk any of the other surgeons I've seen? No. Why? Same reason. If Dr. ___ wanted me to stop complaining about him, then there's a very easy solution. I'll give you a hint: the answer is not "keep avoiding me at all costs."

My "House" marathon has taught me one thing. In the show, patients are often in comas, rendered incapacitated by tumors, speaking in tongues, seizures etc. If they're not in comas, then they're generally hinderances to diagnosis, prone to refusing treatment because they have misgivings or becoming emotional at inopportune moments. One physician remarks that the average doctor only listens to a patient speaking for 18 seconds, since tests tell them everything they need to know. Another complains about patients and their boring lives. Only biopsies and CT scans and MRIs and bloodwork and surgery can be trusted.

So, despite the fact that I'm probably one of his few patients who does not smell like Werther's Originals and Ben-Gay, it's no shock that Dr. ___ wants to get rid of me. What he doesn't seem to realize, however, is that we both want the same thing. I would like nothing better than to hop out of bed and stop spending my life looking at the Facebook wedding albums of people I don't know or eating my weight in Popeye's cigarettes. If I never have to hear the phrase "You have reached the office of Dr. ____. I am either on the other line or away from my desk. Please note that office hours are..." I will be the happiest of happy campers. Until something happens, however, I have to keep being annoying/snarky/full of seething rage.

So, Dr. ___, if it turns out that I've been blessed with dream-based psychic abilities and you are reading this, the solution is rather simple: if you want me to stop complaining, then give me something else to write about.

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