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I went to the doctor this week for a complete physical.
For those of you who have had complete physicals before, you know how fun they are!
First, you're brought into "the room" by a nurse who takes your blood pressure, asks you about your plans for the weekend, tells you to strip down to your underwear, and leaves the room.
Isn't that just like a women? Always taking your blood pressure, asking you about your plans for the wekend, telling you to strip down to your underwear, and leaving the room? Well, maybe not...
Anyway, after the nurse leaves the room, the realization begins to set in that you're practically naked in a public place, so you try to concentrate on something else.
The first thing your attention drifts toward is the adult contemporary music that's coming from the ceiling. Of course, they're playing the worst song in history (I'm talking, of course, about "Maneater" by Hall & Oates), so you try to occupy your time by looking at the posters on the wall.
After you've had enough of those cutesy doctors' office posters, you try, once again to lose yourself in the "music" that is softly playing in the background. The song they're playing now is "Man On The Moon" by R.E.M. Not a bad song.
Of course, after the song ends, your inevitably left down by Whitney Houston's "I'm Every Woman." What the hell is this? 1993?
Still waiting fot the doctor to make his dramatic entrance, you only have one resort left to occupy your time with: I'm talking, of course, about the March 12, 1983 issue of "Newsweek" that is sitting to your right.
Hesitantly, you skim through the magazine and find an interesting article about Vice President George Bush. Of course, you know how outdated that article is, so you decide instead to read the piece on that new guy in late night.
Finally, as you're nearing the end of the article on David Letterman, the doctor makes his Kramer-esque appearance in "the room." Keep in mind that you're still practically nude.
The first thing he tells you to do, after he introduces himself, is lay on the bed... you know, the one that has the wax paper all over it... and take a deep breath. As you comply to his wishes, he proceeds to stick this cold metallic object, which he calls a stethescope, on your chest. This is supposed to be used to take your heart rate, but if you ask me, it should be used to temporarily stop the heart.
The next thing he does is press down on different areas of your stomach and chest with his hands. Supposedly, this is supposed to somehow aid him in his physical analysis of you, but I say he's just doing this for kicks.
Next comes the final section of the phsyical; the part guys dread most. That's right! It's time for ol' Doc to put on his gloves and for you to drop trou!
Some of you will be thrilled to know, however, that 'turn your head and cough' has been replaced with 'push with your abdomen and grunt.'
When that's over, you can put your clothes back on and listen to the doctor's results from the lab tests you gave them the previous week, or, what I like to call "Final Thought."
In my case, he told me my urine is in ship-shape, but that I have high levels of calcium and thick blood.
WTF is that? Thick blood? Apparently, my blood is like Heinz 57 Sauce and I need to take aspirin regularly to thin it out. So basically, he wants me to go from Prego to Ragu.
He closed his little spiel by telling me "Until next time, take care of yourself... and each other."
- Tell your friends.