As I’ve said before, my Dearly Beloved has some peculiar notions about doctors.
He still subscribes to the theory that all injuries should be ignored unless they occur on the football field which, of course, isn’t happening at our house this century. So, when he was playing Tennis Ball Keepaway (which he shouldn’t) with our dog Scout recently and she jumped for the tennis ball in his hand and got the fleshy pad of his hand instead, he took care of the wound himself. I wasn’t home and he had it bandaged by the time I returned, so I haven’t seen it and don’t want to. He claims it probably could have used some stitches, but it was a clean tear, so he wasn’t going to get any.
I ignored it, staging my own game of Keepaway from the whole incident, refusing to offer sympathy. That doesn’t stop him from holding up his hand occasionally and dramatically peeking under the bandage to give me a report.
Still, when he felt awful for several days in a row recently, I did feel bad for him and insisted he see the doctor. Who’s going to set the mousetrap if he kicks the bucket?
He told me that he’d be seeing her soon for his October physical. “When is that?” I asked, it being the last week of September.
“I don’t know. I haven’t made the appointment yet.”
“Well, MAKE it! Right now.”
A few minutes later, he said he’d done so and would be going in mid-November. (And my dentist wonders why I grind my teeth!)
“Look at you, you’re in BED! You’ve felt lousy for days! Call them again and tell them you’re sick and need to come in NOW!”
He sighed dramatically.
“Okay. Dial the number for me and bring me the phone.”
My sigh was even more dramatic than his, but I took the damn phone to his bedside. I’d punched in the number; all he had to do was hit “Talk.” Which he screwed up. He hit Redial and Talk a second, then a third time, before he ever got it to ring.
He began talking almost immediately, explaining that he’d just made an appointment for his physical, but wondered if he could see the doctor right away. I was mystified, since I always have to go through several automated prompts before reaching the appointed appointment human. How did he avoid that?
While he explained his symptoms, I stood over him with my arms crossed, making sure he didn’t omit anything. A look of puzzlement suddenly crossed his face.
“Scout,” he said, obviously in response to a question. “She bit me on the hand, but it’s okay. It was an accident.”
He listened again, then answered, “No, the checkup is for me.” Another look of complete confusion. “Wait a minute. Who have I called here?”
Animal Medical Hospital.
He burst out laughing, hastening to explain, “My wife dialed this number for me.”
I hadn’t! I’d most certainly dialed the doctor’s number because I’d looked it up before doing so, but by then I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t defend myself. I fell onto the bed, clutching my stomach, shrieking and gasping, as he answered that no, he didn’t think he needed a rabies shot, but he could use a bath.
I wanted to suggest anal gland expression, but I still couldn’t catch my breath enough to say the words.
Since he’d inadvertently disconnected the number I’d put in for him before it ever connected, hitting Redial had taken him back to the last number actually called–the vet he’d called the previous evening to arrange boarding for Scout over the weekend.
Funny thing is, we laughed so hard over the ridiculous conversation, he began to feel better almost immediately. Since it can’t do lab work, he still had to go in for a checkup, but laughter really IS the best medicine!
My doctor is wonderful. Once, in 1955, when I couldn’t afford an operation, he touched up the X-rays. – Henny Youngman
Sign on a cosmetic surgery clinic:
If life gives you lemons, a simple operation can give you melons.