I’m a guy. I’m a regular guy. Just a plain old regular guy. I take that back – I’m an old fashioned guy. There are a few things that we old fashioned guys pride ourselves on:
- I can hunt and I’ve killed before (Watch it suckas. I’ll stab you without blinking)
- I will not ask for directions
- If the pieces look like they go together, I won’t need an instruction manual
- Me like women folk
- If you tell me something on my fork is on fire and it is extremely hot, odds are I’ll still put it immediately in my mouth
- I have a high tolerance to pain
- I hate doctors
Yeah, that last one is the one that REALLY gets me. I’ve had a cough since the beginning of September and it is driving Angela crazy. I don’t really mind it. Ok, so I’m short of breath and I occaissionally cough up something that resembles a organ that is probably important. But really, do I need to see a doctor about this? Can’t I just try every over the counter medicine until my cough goes away? Maybe some voodoo? How about if I just keep taking everyone’s advice when they hear me cough rather than go to a doctor? You know, people tell me it is the Bird Flu, SARS, ragweed, allergies, syphillis (?!) and I’ll try remedies for those afflictions.
I hate doctors.
Especially these days when you go to see a doctor and you don’t even get to see a doctor. You get a ‘Nurse Practitioner’. What the hell is that? Someone who isn’t paid as much as a doctor but gets to play doctor? Dammit, if I go to a medical facility I either want the entire cast of E.R. or House to look at me. Wait, scratch House. If it is the cast of House and I go in for a cough they’ll find out that I contracted Ebola from drinking out of a glass without a straw at Ruby Tuesday’s. Instead, I get this person with a clipboard who asks me fairly pedantic questions, looks me over and says ‘hmmmm….’ and then, when I’m not looking, consults their Richard Simmons Deal-A-Meal-Book-of-Medical-Maladies. “Hmmm…he has a cough (pulls out cough card), shortness of breath (pulls out breath card), and a back ache. Wait, that doesn’t match with anything. Crap.” That’s when they write a perscription for antibiotics because everyone knows antibiotics cures everything. What’s that? a Virus? Antibiotics. Your leg looks like a piece of beef jerky? Antibiotics. Stupid Nurse Practitioner.
One time I went in because I had a problem with my posterior. I had to suffer the joy of being checked ‘down there’ with ye olde rubber glove and ky jelly. Did she take me out to dinner first? No. Did she even take me to a movie? Oh, hell no. Just “roll over, this might be cold and slippery” and then BLOOP! What’s worse is that when she was done and I was able to sit up she was blushing. SHE WAS BLUSHING! DAMMIT DID I FORGET TO SHAVE MY ASS AGAIN?! She didn’t even call me the next day.
I hate medical science in general.
I hate it so much, I refuse to get this rash looked at on my leg anymore. I don’t care. Flesh eating bacteria? So what. It just means that I’ll lose weight faster. Unfortunately, Angela snookered me into seeing a doctor on Friday. A bribe I say. First shopping and then I have to go get checked for this damn cough. Can’t I just wait for my chest to collapse on itself?!
I’m a man, dammit. I don’t need no stinking doctors or medicine or any crap like that. Oh, I feel woozy. Will someone feel my head to see if I’m hot? Can someone please make me some soup while I lay on the couch and moan? Pleeeeeeeeeease? I’m sick.