Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Doctor Whackjob and the Aliens


So today, I went to a dermatologist.

For no reason other than, well, I've met my deductible for the year (imagine THAT), and I may or may not have a few suspicious looking spots, seeing as how I have skin the color of a storm trooper, covered in freckles from head to toe.

So off I go.

To meet Dr. Whackjob and the Aliens.

If you've ever been to a dermatologist (I hadn't, and it would have been nice to have known this), you take off all your clothes, and put on a gown.

Very reminiscent of going to the OB/GYN, but whatever.

So Dr. Whackjob comes in.

Followed by his five aliens.

I call him Dr. Whackjob for the following reasons:

1). He spent wayyyyyy too much time admiring and commenting on my gorgeously fabulous red hair. Yeah, it's gorgeously, fabulous, but dude, COME on, ENOUGH ALREADY!

2). He had on a tie that looked like somebody's tee shirt from a Grateful Dead concert. Not very doctor-ish.

3). He started asking about my Crohn's and suggested the following: that the doctors give me pregnancy hormones to make my body think that it's pregnant. (Sometimes, if you have Crohn's and you get pregnant, your body goes into remission during the pregnancy, then usually comes back after you give birth. In my case, this happened both times, at almost exactly the same times).

Okay, so here I am naked, and the last thing I wanted to do was insult this doctor who I heard was the best dermatologist in my area, in case I had a melanoma on my leg the size of Texas, and was really going to need to be nice to him for a long time.

So I just shook my head and said, "Sure". But he wouldn't stop, he wanted me to write down on a piece of paper the name of this hormone (which now resides in the Lake County landfill), and suggest to my GI that he give it to me, to try to convince my body that it's pregnant, and maybe it would stop my Crohn's symptoms.

And he concluded with, "It's just an idea."



It's just an idea?

I have a clinically diagnosed complication of a disease that I share with 249 other human beings on the planet, and you want me to propose "just an idea" to these doctors who are so completely educated on this ONE disease that they might just have me Baker Acted (Google it) to the nearest mental institution on the suggestion that they PRETEND to impregnate me so that my Crohn's might subside in NINE MONTH INTERVALS?

Because a dermatologist with a Grateful Dead tie said "It's just an idea."?????????????




I'll get right on that.

Anyway, back to the aliens.

So you lay on this table, nekkid except for the 'gown', and Doctor Whackjob is wearing these like 3D glasses that light up and he is scanning my body from head to toe, and every now and then he shouts out to Alien #5 a word that sounds like "Milla", or "Keysucker" or "Kleptomaniac" and she types all this into the Alien computer, and then Aliens #1, 2, 3, and 4, follow Dr. Whackjob's lead, picking up one of my limbs, and shouting out the same words and the location in which those words were found, like, "Kleptomaniac, lower right eye".

Honest to God, I felt like I had been kidnapped by Aliens, and they were examining a human for maybe the 10th time, and were logging what they had found.

It was freaking WEIRD, and that's all I have to say about that.

Oh yeah.

The news?

Allegedly, I am a dermatologist's worst nightmare.

Apparently, I have beautiful skin, albeit quite freckled, but no signs of anything amiss whatsoever, even that kleptomaniac eye of mine.

And he never has to see me again, unless I or one of my 'normal' physicians detects something has appeared from out of the blue or has changed.

Praise God that I have no signs of skin cancer.

And most importantly, Praise God that I don't have to see Dr. Whackjob and the Aliens again.

Hopefully, never, ever again.



1 comment:

  1. Hurricane, I didn't even have to Google "Baker Act". It's happened to my crazy mother several times. Three day psychiatric hold, I know you well!