The-DOC-tor

I went again to see a doctor.  This time a skin dude.  A dermatologist.  I prepared for the visit well.  Went over my past logs, compiled a list of questions and other subjects about which I wanted to seek her opinions.

The day came.  I went in well prepared with a briefcase filled with files, folders, papers, even my iTouch and of course my glasses.  I was let into a small examination room.  The nurse who led me in took down some information then told me to take off all my clothes except for my underwear and to don a paper “robe”.  Then she left quickly - perhaps before I could rip my clothes off and shock her in my underwear.

Now, all alone in the room, I wondered what I could do with my clothes?  I still had them on and was ready to take them off, but then what?  I could put them on the examination table, or in the sink, or on the floor.  I must be the first person ever to have taken any clothes off in this room, there was no place to put them.  Apparently no one had ever thought of this.  Every doctor in the country ought to HAVE to go in one of their examination rooms and take off all their clothes!   For a moment I wondered if most people come into the waiting room naked.  But I quickly let that idea go.  So I put my briefcase against the wall, put my glasses and iTouch in there because I didn’t want them to get stepped on or sat on, then I removed my shirt, folded it up and put it on top of the briefcase.  My shoes were next to come off and they went against the wall next to the briefcase. Then I took my socks off, rolled them up and put them on top of the shoes.  Then I removed my trousers, folded them carefully in thirds so nothing would fall out of the pockets and placed them on top of my socks and shoes.  


Finally I donned the paper ‘robe”  and perched on the end of the examination table, my bare feet dangling in thin air, looking like a character who might have escaped from an “Alice in Wonderland” stage.  Instead of being an intelligent human being conferring  with an expert they have hired to help them work together and solve a problem, I have become a specimen in a bottle.


Someone knocked on the door.  

I figured it must be the janitor coming in 
to clean up and wanted to make sure no one is inside.  
So I said “Occupied”.  


The door opened anyway, but instead of the janitor, it was the nurse who had left just a few moments earlier and now she had with her a  young lady who appeared distraught.  Together they looked very serious.  For an instant I was transported back to grade school - here comes the teacher,  entering detention room with the student I had supposedly wronged earlier.  Then I figured - no - this is the doctor and they have found something in my records that is very bad news.

The new young lady delicately offered her hand limply to me as if an invitation to kiss it.  I was afraid that would offend her though, so I just touched it with mine carefully so I wouldn’t hurt her.  She hugged her clipboard to her chest and clasped both of her hands together in a helpless gesture and sadly bit her lower lip. She clearly was saying in body language, “I am SO sorry”.  The nurse looked hopelessly sad.

The young doctor spoke to me.  “How-ARE-you?”  She spoke louder than most people would when talking in a  room no more than four by eight feet, and her words crawled out one at a time for singular inspection .  Clearly she has seen my age, and that’s why she is sorry for me, that’s why she is shouting at me.  “I-am-going-to-LOOK-at-your-BACK!”, she goes behind me.  Then, “I-am-going-to-OP-PEN-the-BACK-of-your-ROBE-now!”

Well, it got worse from there.  When I asked her about my arms, which have wrinkled skin filled with bruises and colored marks, she just gently touched one of those arms and shook  her head sadly.  “What can be done?”  I asked.  

“Nothing.”  She sadly said, still slowly shaking her head.  

“What causes that?”  I ask.

After a moment’s reflection she replies “Too-much-SUN-light.”  and then she added sadly “And-old-AGE.”  

I snatched my arm back from her.  “You don’t know, huh?”  I asked.

She pondered for a moment and then said that she “. . . has-a -prescription-that-doesn’t-COST-too-much-and-it-might-help.”


I told her that the skin was easily broken and that I couldn't use band-aids because the band-aids tore the skin when I took them off.  She sadly nodded her head, almost imperceptibly.  I asked her if she knew anything else I could use and she sadly shook her head, almost imperceptibly.  Then I told her that I had had miraculous results using a medication called "UrgentQR", a combination of hydrophilic polymer and potassium salt.  She had no reaction.  I told her that it healed the wound quickly and eliminated need for bandages.  She had no reaction.  I asked her if she had ever heard of "UrgentQR".  She nodded her head almost imperceptibly.  I asked her if she had an opinion on it.  She did not respond.  I asked her again.  She did not respond again.  I asked her again.  She did not respond again.  I asked her if she knew of anything better.  She seemed preoccupied in trying to find other problems.


The other questions I had were in my files, on my cliipboard, in my briefcase, on the floor, under my shirt, along with my iTouch and my glasses.  My bare feet still dangled. 

And the underwear?  Well, the way those two ladies moved that pitiful paper “robe” about across my body, I don’t think they even saw it.  In fact, I think I could have taken that off too, and they wouldn’t even have noticed.  Next time I go there I will take EVERYthing off, then don that paper "robe"  and see if they even notice what I did.  Now that I think a little bit more about all this though, I think I might go somewhere else next time.