At the medics

 

I went for my regular check-up at the medics recently. They check that my sense of humour is still intact. As I sat there in the waiting-room I read old magazines announcing the sinking of the Titanic and the raising of the iceberg. Why do they always have old magazines at the doctors, hospitals and dentists?

I then turned my attention to the many notices on the wall. Vaccines for this, injections for that, tests for this other problem, potential cures, help and assistance for certain conditions, and so many other illnesses and ailments. As I read I began to realise how fortunate I am, and how much worse things could be for me. There is always someone worse off than us in life, when we focus on what ails us. 

It's an amazing fact in human nature that we get some sort of comfort from the fact that someone else is worse off than us. If we're ill, we compare our illness to that of others to see if their problem is more serious than ours. If we're in a job we don't like, or poorly paid, we compare ourselves to someone unemployed. We always seem to want to be better than others in our misfortunes. 

It's true, whilst sitting there in the waiting-room, I realised how many other potential illnesses I could have by reading the various notices on the boards around me. In a way, I was grateful; I remember saying a thank you prayer at the time.

Then I began to think back on my life. Funny how your mind wonders when you have nothing to do. There have been many occasions when things did not go well for me. I call them milestones in my life. I can almost tell you the dates for each one when it happened. And at every milestone I am now certain that God was there for me. Things could have turned much worse for me. But they didn't; and now you have to suffer the agony of my sense of humour.

But that is life, I suppose. We should live it looking forwards but understanding it backwards.

Every so often we should look back at the milestones in our lives. I'm sure you'll see, with hindsight, that God was there for you too. 

Eventually I was called in at the doctor's insulting room. As I got in, a nun came out crying. I asked the doctor why she was crying. He said he'd told her she was pregnant. I asked him, "Is she really pregnant?" He replied, "No ... but it cured her hiccups!"

You don't have to blow other peoples' candles out for yours to shine.

At The Doctor's

 

I wasn't feeling very well lately. Been having this recurring problem. It's on and off really. I remember it first happened when I was a teenager and I started ballet lessons. I used to wear those very tight-fitting tights. I suppose that's why they called them tights really.

Very uncomfortable they were. I had to wear them all the time at home to get used to them. You know ... get the feel for them. I used to practice my pas de deux and other moves you do at ballet. I raised my leg high onto the mantelpiece and the dog attacked me. The cat ran up the curtain and brought the whole thing down.

Anyway, back to my problem. I went to the doctor's. Unfortunately my usual doctor was not there. He was replaced by Dr Angelica Withers. 

I don't like being seen by women doctors. I get embarrassed I suppose. I thought of leaving and going back home. Then I thought. I've come all the way here; I might as well see her. Mine is a very tiny problem. She will have seen it before many times. Doctors tend to see many tiny personal problems in the course of their duty.

So I went into her insulting room.

Dr Angelica was a pleasant enough person and asked me what was the matter. I said, "I've been getting these hot flushes. Getting very red in the face as if I'm permanently blushing."

"Oh ..." she said, "do you have pain in the knees?"

"No!" I replied.

"Pity," she said, "I've been reading about that only the other day. I do a lot of medical reading to keep up to date," she continued. "Important in my job. I get these women's magazines and they have good articles about various ailments and diseases. You don't have haemorrhoids, do you?"

"No!" I said emphatically.

"There was an article about that the other day," she said, "do you know what you get if you go to the North Pole and sit on a block of ice?"

I shook my head.

She said, "Polaroids!"

She could not help me about my blushing and my red face and hot flushes. She suggested I call back in a few weeks' time when perhaps there'd be something about them in her women's magazines.

I left her insulting room rather sad and dejected.

To cheer myself up I thought I'd buy some new shirts for work. White ones of course.

I said to the man in the shop, "Hello my good man. I would like two white shirts please. Collar size 14 inches!"

He looked at me and said, "I think Sir means 16 inches collar size!"

"Not at all!" I responded, "I know my collar size. It is definitely 14 inches. It has been so ever since I was at school!!!!!"

"That's strange," he said, "do you get red in the face with hot flushes as if you're blushing?"

At the doctor's

 

After the dentist, I thought of visiting the optician, the hairdresser, the manicurist, the clothes stylist,(tailor), the shoemaker, and of course the doctor.

I don't like to go to the doctor. No one does, I suppose. So I'd better get it over and done with first.

The receptionist at the doctor asked me, "why do you want to see the doctor?" I told her to mind her own business. She insisted she wanted to know so she can put it on the computer. I told her what if it was a very personal problem relating to something sexual. What about that? Would she still want to know?

She said yes, then explained, "You see, I need to know what is your ailment and put it on the computer here. This gives time for the doctor to Google your condition and find the answer to your problem."

Eventually I went to see the doctor in his insulting room. "Doctor, I have a personal problem," I said.

"Don't worry," he replied biting on a KFC chicken leg, "it will soon go away!"

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yes, most problems soon go away just as they have come!" he answered licking his fingers and wiping them on his shirt.

"Don't you want to see it?" I insisted beginning to undress.

"Not really," he said standing up from his desk, "I'm too busy right now. You know how it is. If it is not one thing it is the mother. It's always the mother. And mine has asked me to get her some cinnamon. Do you know how difficult it is to get cinnamon at this time of day? It is at least a half-hour drive to the supermarket with this traffic. If I delay it any longer it will be worse. I really don't have time to deal with your problem."

"But ... but ..." I stammered.

"I don't have time with your butt!" he interrupted heading for the door, "I tell you what ... I can pick up some spices for you from the supermarket. Do you need some cloves, nutmeg, ginger, coriander, cumin? Anything. You name it ... I'll get it for you!" 

"What do you want me to do with them?" I asked angrily, "stick 'em up my butt? I came here for a diagnosis and some treatment; not to purchase a lot of condiments which I do not require, or to listen to your meaningless trivial self-pitying complaints about your mother's most probably reasonable request to do her shopping. Pull yourself together man. You're supposed to be a doctor, not a whining snivelling insignificant excuse for a human being. As a pitiful son it is your job and responsibility to look after your mother. As a useless doctor it is your duty and obligation to look after your patients, not share your frivolous problems with them."

After I finished my uncharacteristic tirade he sat down at this desk again and began to cry, or snivel. He did not even have the strength of character to cry openly and bitterly. I felt sorry for him. I sat down next to him and explained. "Look ..." I said gently, "I have come here because I have got a pain on my knee. Just happened recently. Maybe I am on my knees praying too much. I don't know ... we all have our problems these days. I just came for some advice, that's all!"

He half-smiled and said, "have you tried cod liver oil? It is good for bad joints!"

I patted him on the back and left.

I've tried rubbing cod liver oil on my knee for a week. Those tiny gel capsules are too small and fiddly and contain very little oil. Just a drop. Might as well stick them up my bottom for all the good they do!

At The Doctor's

I went to see the doctor today. He was checking whether my sense of humour was still intact.

Ours is a big medical practice with several doctors and nurses. It has a large waiting room with a speaker system which plays soft music and every so often it calls patients to their appointed doctor.

“Would Mr Herbert Pixon please go to Dr Smythe’s room please?” said the speaker as a weedy tall middle-aged man got up and left the waiting room.

Now Dr Smythe may well be the best doctor in the world, but he is certainly not that good at technical matters; because he inadvertently left the microphone open in his room, and this is what we all heard.

“Do sit down Mr Pixon. What seems to be the problem?”

A lady in the waiting room suddenly got up to advise the receptionist that the mike was switched on.

“It is rather very embarrassing!” interrupted Mr Pixon.

The lady sat down again to the relief of everyone in the waiting room.

“There’s no need for embarrassment,” soothed the doctor, “we’re here to help and I’m sure whatever is the matter, we’ve dealt with it before.”

 “Well … I’ve met this young lady …” Pixon hesitated.

An elderly lady in the waiting room reading her book suddenly took off her spectacles and started listening with the rest of us.

“I met her on an Internet website …” continued the hapless man, “she came to my apartment yesterday evening … for a romantic encounter …”

A man in the waiting-room started tapping his hearing-aid violently to make sure it works all right.

“I understand,” said the doctor, “you want to discuss precautions …”

“Well … not just that,” muttered Pixon, “it’s that something actually happened … I feel awful about it!”

At this point the receptionist entered the waiting room. Everyone pretended they were reading a book or newspaper and not paying attention to the loudspeaker on the wall. She looked at us suspiciously for a moment or two, and then she stood on a chair and increased the volume on the speaker, and sat down with us to listen.

“The young lady arrived at 7:35 …” said Pixon, “this put me off a little because she was five minutes late.

“I took off her coat and she was wearing a nice pink blouse and a short blue skirt.

“I offered her a cup of nettles tea. She took one sip and said she didn’t like it. I offered her dandelion tea and she turned it down too. She wanted a gin and tonic but I didn’t have any tonic. And I didn’t have any gin either …”

“I understand,” interrupted the doctor gently, “what exactly happened which made you come to see me?”

“I’m getting to that …” answered Pixon, “we sat down for something to eat. We had tofu and nettles salad for starters, and quinoa with broad beans for our main. She didn’t like either and asked for some meat; but I didn’t have any. She just nibbled at a multi-grain bread roll.

“I got up to put some romantic music on. Insect sounds of the forest. Have you got that record?”

“Mr Pixon, please get to the point,” suggested the doctor, “I have other patients to see …”

“Don’t rush me!” said an upset Pixon, “you’re like my mother. She always says Herbert get to the point.

“Well the point is that when I put the music on, the young lady started running her finger through my quinoa. She had her own plate full, but she ran her finger provocatively in an enticing and beguiling manner through my quinoa moving it around in circles all over the plate. I had difficulty eating from around her fingers because I did not wish to stab her accidentally with my fork.

“Wherever I ate, she followed my fork with her finger.

“I didn’t know what to say … I asked her ‘Would you like some of my quinoa?’ and she said rather abruptly ‘No … I’ve dropped my contact lens in your plate!”

The whole waiting room chuckled and then realized that this was not appropriate in case they missed part of the conversation.

The doctor encouraged Pixon once again, rather sternly but politely, to get to the point.

“After the meal I showed her my organ pedal collection,” continued Herbert whilst the waiting room filled up with more patients and nurses.

“I don’t actually play the organ, but I collect the pedals from old ones which have been decommissioned. I have some that date back to Napoleonic times. And some from the reign of Queen Victoria, King George, and even as far back as Henry the Eighth. And of course there are pedals from modern electronic organs too …

“I brought all the pedals which I keep in separate boxes, all properly labeled. Both the boxes as well as the pedals so that each pedal goes back in its proper box. I write carefully in my best hand-writing which organ the pedal appertained to, the date of manufacture of the organ, as well as the date of decommissioning, the price I paid for the pedal when I acquired it, although mostly I got them for free, and the date and place of such acquirement.

“I have six hundred and seventy two pedals. Some are wooden and some are brass or other metallic substance such as cast iron or steel.

“I took each pedal out of the box carefully and explained their history to the young lady.

“I had reached number two hundred and ten when it happened … the embarrassing thing I came to see you about doctor … I noticed the young lady had fallen asleep. She had her face in her plate full of quinoa and she was snoring loudly.

“Doctor … are you OK? Doctor … why is your head down on the desk? Are you feeling a little tired? Have you not been listening to me?”

At the doctor's.

I was standing in the street this morning outside a doctor’s surgery; I was waiting for an elderly patient to take her back home.

Out came an impeccably dressed old gentleman. He was wearing a three-piece tweed suit, a heavy overcoat, a hat, and carrying an umbrella. The sort of old gentleman you only get to meet in Britain I suppose.

He stopped on the sidewalk, looked left and right in puzzlement, then said to me: “I can’t remember where I left my car !!!”

I smiled and said jokingly: “You haven’t left it at home, have you?”

“Ah … !!!” he replied, “now you mention it; yes I have. It’s such a nice day, I thought the walk would do me good. Cheerio !!!”

And he walked away happily.

A few minutes later another old man came our of the doctor’s.

“Hmmm …” he said, “the doctor told me I’m overweight and my blood pressure is high. He suggested I get some exercise. He said I should do something every week that leaves me slightly out of breath. I think I’ll take up smoking again!”

And he walked away chortling to himself.

It’s not often I’m entertained by elderly people. May God bless them and all senior folks.