When the doctor entered the examining room he looked
like he was wearing a children's costume. He had one of those large
round reflector things on a strap around his forehead. I'm surprised
that he didn't have a little triangular hammer to test my reflexes
and a box of pink band-aids. He was completely full of himself - as
all doctors are - more concerned with making an impression on me than
doing anything to really help.
Anyway, fast forward to the end of the exam.
The doctor took out a small hand held recording device
and started to speak into it holding it closely to his mouth and
waving it back and forth while he reported his notes. It was an
incredibly absurd and obnoxious performance. He threw as many
obscure medical terms around as he could, never looked at me even
though I was sitting right in front of him, and talked faster than
anyone I had ever heard.
I laughed out loud in the middle of it. I had started
to imagine a dance. His recording would be the soundtrack and a
dancer would move frantically and desperately around the stage,
getting nowhere, and falling a lot.
When he was finished with his report, I asked him if I
could have a copy of the recording for some choreography that I
wanted to do. He didn't really answer me but looked quite perplexed.
He had no idea what I was talking about. I laughed again, stood up,
and offered to perform a piece of it right then and there, but I
changed my mind when I saw the look of fear on his face and sat down
again. Relieved, he handed me a useless prescription and left the
room. I smiled to myself, and for once I was able to leave a
doctor's examining room without feeling physically humiliated and
psychologically eviscerated.