Hey thanks! You've been almost NO help at all!

Good evening!

Well, I had quite a few ideas for my next posting, but I didn't think I would be posting quite so soon.  And yet, sometimes something happens that's so amazing, so uttering STUPID, you just have to discuss.

Let me frame this by saying, the title of this evening's post is NOT an original thought.  This quotation comes from one of my favorite morning radio personalities, Mr. Bob Madden of The Bob and Brian Show.  Bob, joined by his compatriots, Brian Nelson, Carrie Wendt (The First Lady of Broadcast News, and a thoughtful fellow blogger herself) and and the others on the show, discuss current events, pop culture, politics, music, movies, and anything else that happens to cross their minds.  That includes Bob's perception that most people are of little or no help and should be informed that they are, at best, useless.

So Bob, I thank you for the title.  And for the bright spot of humor I enjoyed this afternoon, thinking of just how you would say that line.

Here's what happened.  After a simply delightful day at my job, I had to run to to the doctor's office for the long awaited APPOINTMENT FOR MY HAND PAIN.  For those of you who aren't aware, I've been wearing a wrist brace for about a month and self medicating with a delicate mixture of over the counter pain killers and alcohol.  My chronic pain in my hands and wrists is not abating in the face of this highly skilled approach so, at the urging of pretty much everyone, I dragged my reluctant fanny to the doc. 

I believe if you go back to the blog where I discuss my very "special" annual checkup, I mention that I didn't have much hope for this appointment.  And I overestimated big time.

First of all, I've had a change of insurance since I last appeared at this particular office.  Shoot, I've had about seven changes in insurance.  Have I mentioned I don't like this doctor?  So filling out the NEW paperwork took the entire 20, yes 20 minutes I had set aside for relaxing in those super comfy chairs in the waiting room.  (See, I love reading Sports Illustrated from three months ago...it's fun to read predictions about the football season...in January.)  Then I get called in to the exam room before I'm even done signing the credit card slip for the copay.  ($30 copay.  Keep that in mind.  I paid cash money to this band of merry men.)

I will say this.  At least the nurse didn't weigh me.  Since I've only been to my OB/GYN in the last seven years...and that office is OBSESSED with weight, I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't have to try and strip off a lot of stuff without notice.  She asked me a couple questions, took my temp  (because when you have hand pain, a general fever is the first place you look?)  and mentioned that I was lucky, I was still young enough to have my period.  (Um, thanks...I think?)

Then the doctor came in.  Now I haven't seen in this guy in 7 years.  I once called for an appointment and couldn't remember his name, so I said  "The good looking doctor," and they knew immediately who I meant.  As he walked in all I could think was, "When did Dudley Moore get a Mike Brady perm and a doctor's degree?"

Take a pound of Aleve and don't call me in the morning.  Dr. Animal will have your x-ray results eventually...that'll be a $30 copay.  Thanks.

Seriously, the years haven't exactly turned me into a pageant winner, (Though I have been known to collect that $10 beauty pageant prize in Monopoly again and again in a single game!)  but when did this guy get old, short, and fat?  (I just got fat, for the record!)

Okay, so Dudley, I mean the doctor, gropes my hands for a bit, makes some noises like he's thinking or something and sends me to x-ray.

Awesome.

Up to x-ray I go.  (for those of you who listen to Bob and Brian, this is the part where Brian says, "and then I go on up the stairs and have to go back down the stairs....."  or something like that.  In my head it's hysterical.)

After getting my very sore hands and thumbs groped by a very nice radiologist  (I asked, since I was there, could I get a two-for and have my mammogram done on the spot?  I almost had her convinced.  Alas, that will be fodder for another post....) I returned to the doctors office.

They called me in right away, angering the old couple sitting in the waiting room.  "WE WERE HERE FIRST" the old man shouted.  The nurse glared at him and said, "She's a return.  Sit still, you're next."

Ah, I love being the center of controversy!

I went back to the exam room.  After a few moments, the doctor returned, made a few more noises and said, "Well, we won't really know until the radiologist comes back with the results."

Wait...what?

What exactly did I just carry up a flight of stairs and across a clinic?  I thought it was x-rays.  Wouldn't that, and your MEDICAL DEGREE pretty much BE THE RESULTS???????????

"So what are you taking for the pain?"

Truthfully, a cocktail of Aleve, Tylenol PM, and tequila.  But I didn't share that with him.  "Aleve."

"Okay, well, I'll give you a prescription for Naxaproxin..."

Are you all thinking what I'm thinking?  He's writing me a scrip....FOR ALEVE!

"This will be stronger."

You mean, stronger than, say, taking MORE ALEVE?

"Here you go."

Oh good.  I'm going to the pharmacy to get a big bottle of ALEVE.  And the pharmacist will patiently tell me how to take it and then LAUGH AT ME as I walk away...walking past a row of HUGE BOTTLES OF ALEVE that are roughly half the price of the bottle I just bought.

Oh but meanwhile, we'll wait for the results of my x-rays.  And, since I spent 20 minutes filling out very long forms that say it's okay to leave a message on my phone, I should be hearing from them anytime.

THANKS, DOC.  YOU'VE BEEN ALMOST NO HELP AT ALL!

I will say this, my day took a big turn for the better after the appointment.  I stopped by Gold's Gym to meet with young....let's call him Reese, he of the "Screw you fee" fame.  See, I wanted to add Skippy to our family membership.  My best guess is Skippy met a girl and now wants to get back into better shape.  To do that he must first leave his lair in the basement.  So I met with Young Reese to get that done. Yesterday, when I set up the appointment with him, he reminded me of my less than tactful term for the processing fee.

And today when I went in and asked for him, "Naturally Balding Mark" as he likes to be called in this blog, said, "Really?  You want Young Reese?"

I swear to you, everyone at the front desk stopped and stared.  "Sarah wants to see Young Reese" They all murmured amongst themselves, with a mixture of awe and fear.

Maybe I'm exaggerating a tiny bit.  Still, the rumor at Gold's is that Young Reese is afraid of me because of my less than tactful term for the processing fee.  I am happy to say that my meeting with him was the high point of my day.  I got Skippy on my membership and it didn't cost an arm or a leg, though I would have willingly cut off a bit of gut fat for the cause.

So now I'm home.  I'm loaded up on Aleve because I haven't been to the pharmacy yet.  (I'll jump right on that.)  Oh, and better news, my rash is back.  So I've got that going for me.

But I made friends with Young Reese and gave money to a completely worthless medical professional.  So the day wasn't a complete loss.