Shame, shame, shame.
After hundreds of years of service to the medical profession it has come to my attention that doctors have been treating hypochondriacs like me as second-class citizens.
For over four decades I have personally catalogued my symptoms, including urine color (complete with matching Home Depot paint chips), the shapes of skin growths (including dimensions, textures and shadings), vision changes, pulse rates, pains (both radiating and stationary), nasal discharge flow rates (along with viscosities, colors and drying times), swellings (surface and subcutaneous) and periods of vertigo (including duration, intensity and spin direction).
And what have I gotten in return for sharing these results with physicians across this great country?
Enough paperwork to guarantee the women’s soccer team ticker-tape parades until 2137.
Meanwhile, those anti-bacterial-surgical-mask-hoarding germaphobes are getting all the attention. One even gets his housing paid for at public expense.
Let’s not forget that it’s hypochondriacs who have relentlessly pushed medical science to improve aspirins, cold compresses and sugar pills. What have germaphobes given society?
Fist bumps.
I mean, really. Where’s the comparison?
Now it’s come to my attention that despite collecting all this scientific data, not a single doctor has ever told me it was all unnecessary. I could be flirting with extinction without enjoying any symptoms at all.
A harmless oversight? Hah. It’s easier to beat the nuclear launch codes out of a Navy SEAL than to force any of my doctors to admit that feeling fine could land me in the hospital in less time than a Kardashian remains married.
It’s a clear case of hypochondriacal malpractice.
(This takes place in my doctor’s office. It is based on a true story. I’ve only edited it to remove parts of the conversation that don’t prove my point.)
ME: Did you finally find the cancer we’ve been looking for?
DOC: Oh, those bumps on your tongue…
ME: …yes…
DOC: …they’re from drinking hot coffee.
ME: There’s got to be something wrong. I’d hate to think I went through those blood tests for nothing.
DOC: They were very helpful.
ME: Did I mention that I couldn’t stop bleeding? The blood just gushed out. If the phlebotomist hadn’t had that little vial there…
DOC: You still don’t have hemophilia.
ME: It’s just not possible that I’m all right.
DOC: I didn’t say that.
ME: Thank God.
DOC: You have a broken heart.
ME: I knew it. It’s Francine Kaputnik, right? From third grade. I’ve never gotten over her, have I? So, what are we talking about? Lithium? Shock therapy?
DOC: Open heart surgery. You have the worst-looking mitral valve in the history of echocardiograms.
ME: Do you have pictures?
DOC: The damn thing is crumbling like a month-old Cracker Barrel biscuit.
ME: Wouldn’t that show up in my stool?
DOC: It’s a figure of speech.
ME: Oh, ‘cause I have samples in the car.
DOC: More likely you’d have shortness of breath.
ME: I seem to have enough of them. My breaths.
DOC: How about chest pains?
ME: No.
DOC: Cough?
ME: Didn’t the X-rays show…?
DOC: You still don’t have tuberculosis. Any swelling in your legs?
ME: No.
DOC: It does sound as if you’re symptom free.
ME: If I agree is that covered by doctor-patient confidentiality? It could endanger my professional standing.
DOC: It’s not unheard of for leaky mitral valves to present with no symptoms.
ME: Be reasonable, Doc. Who searches the internet for “no symptoms?”
DOC: And here’s the bright side. The next time you think you’re having a stroke people will pay attention.
ME: You mean I’m at death’s door because I feel good?
DOC: Look at it this way. Not complaining most likely saved your life.
ME: Isn’t there some alternative to surgery? You know, those placebos work really well.
DOC: There is…
ME: …well…?
DOC: …but it has to do with choosing your parents wisely. I’m afraid we’re past that.
ME: I’ve got to tell you, I don’t feel so good. My heart is racing. My chest hurts. And I can’t breath.
DOC: Oh, don’t be such a hypochondriac.
After years of complaining I’m finally getting my reward — open heart surgery to repair an honest-to-God leaky mitral valve. Every other Sunday this summer I’ll email links to some of the more popular stories (as determined by a lack of cards and letters threatening to sue me if I ever wrote such dribble again). Meanwhile, I’ll be using my recuperation time to research symptoms related to stroke, cardiac infarction, arterial occlusion, anesthesia-induced dementia and post-surgery depression. Enjoy your summer. I know I’ll enjoy mine.
Start your Sunday with a laugh. Read the Sunday Funnies, fresh humor from The Out Of My Mind Blog. Subscribe now and you'll never miss a post.
I had a triple bypass last year. Open heart surgery isn’t that bad.
Mike
Hi Mike…
I’m glad to hear about your attitude toward open heart surgery. I’m looking for someone to undergo the procedure for me, and since you’re already a fan perhaps you’d like to volunteer. You can tell me all about after I return from a vacation in the Virgin Islands.
–jay
Jay! Whaaa’? I hope everything goes without a hitch. As a reformed microbiologist, I advise you to avoid nosocomial infections!
Hi Amanda…
My strategy for avoiding nosocomial infections is avoiding hospitals When I see one, I cross the street. I’m doing that this time. They’re repairing my mitral value in a parking lot.
–jay
Your good attitude should help you recuperate more quickly.
Hi Nancy…
My attitude will help. But I’m counting on the fact that there are a lot of lawyers in my family to motivate the doctors to get me through this in one piece (minus the bad mitral valve).
–jay
Oh Jay, you are so unique!! So smart, so clever. And we wish you so much good luck with your recuperation. Only you could turn such a scary thing into humor!
Bryna and Joe
Hi Bryna…
Thanks for the good wishes. I’m sure that I’ll have even more to laugh at once I get started describing my recuperation.
–jay