Bloodletting

I went to the doctor today because I was convinced
I was dying again and I wanted an official diagnosis.

See, last time I went ahead and diagnosed myself
with some fatal malady, after reading all the horror
stories online I could find, and I think this made my
D.O. mad. He had his secretary call me back with
the message, "the doctor will see you in the morning,
in the meantime "STAY OFF THE INTERNET!"

I don't know why it is, but whenever I get ill my mind starts whispering things
in my ear, like "This is it, Dave, you're history." and "Feel that ache, Dave? It's
probably terminal." And, it uses the voice of the evil computer in "2001: A Space
Odyssey;" hence the "Dave" stuff. I think it's some kind of mind game. But, it's
really mean.

Why is that? I don't attack my mind when it does something goofy like forgetting
where it put the car keys, or making itself up and then changing itself. I mean,
I speak my mind, for crying out loud. What more does it want?

So, I go to my appointment having written down all the things that are wrong
with me. I read it to the doctor and he listens and nods his head and types stuff
on his laptop, and his beeper goes off not once but TWICE during my consultation,
which really made me nervous, but I didn't say anything because I was trying to
get him to understand how sick I really was and it was hard to do that while
wondering just who was sending him secret messages on his beeper!

Anyway, it all ended with him telling me that I probably just have a "bug" and
that it'll go away in a few days, and that I need some happy pills and how he's
got free samples and I can try them out and see how it goes (he's my Tambourine
Man, I'm his Judy Garland), oh, and that I need to have a few blood tests.

Now, if there's one thing I know it's that I don't want to have blood drawn
WHEN I'M SICK! My blood really likes being right where it is - slugging it out
in my veins. It doesn't like to come out. Every time they try to get some, it
becomes an event worthy of the Olympics, with special marksmen, contortionists
and highdivers and lots of ooohs and ahhhhs from spectators.

Today, the first Olympian was a nice young girl who started apologizing right
away....and never stopped. She must have said, "I'm sorry" about thirty times...
and that was before she even did anything. I was doomed. She tried twice, each arm,
but could only manage one measly vial. She left the field in defeat and Nurse Diesel
came in to give it her best shot. She wasn't apologetic, but she didn't get any blood
either. So, after strapping, tapping, jabbing and fishing around with the needle,
they decided that the amount of blood in the first vial was enough for all the tests.

I was a good patient. I just put my head in my hand, scrunched my eyes shut
and tried to imagine a field of sunflowers wafting in a warm summer breeze.
I think they thought I'd passed out. They kept asking me if I was okay. I could
only make peep sounds in response.

But the funny thing is that after walking back outside (where The Man patiently
waited, discovering the joys of Conde Nast Traveller and Allure magazines), I
suddenly started feeling better. I felt stronger than I'd felt in days. By the time
we got to the car my nausea was gone and so was my headache.

Which made me think that maybe those medieval guys were on to something.
That a little bloodletting is an excellent physic.

Either that or I was just so happy to be out of there I experienced a spontaneous
healing.

That good ol' doctor of mine. He saved me again.
I think I should send him a beeper thank you message.