MEDICAL STORY — GOOD NEWS
I used to go to Haber the Dermatologist. He didn’t like small talk. He carried a mole-zapping heat gun. He sizzled me a couple times and collected his check. Then I switched docs because Haber wasn’t taking my insurance anymore.
I wound up with a doctor who was very, very cautious. She saw a cyst on my head, which she wanted to get rid of — my cyst, not my head. She scheduled me for a seven-stitch deep dig. Not a quicky zap job. This was a “procedure” in hospital jargon, but “surgery” to me.
The surgeon — a specialist — didn’t look too seasoned. I said, “How old are you?” She answered, “Old enough to be your doctor.” I liked that. She offered a discount package: three stitches, and she’d go back in for more only if warranted down the road. A deal.
It was a benign cyst. I didn’t need any more work.
How’s that for an upbeat medical story?
6 comments
Bert, so happy you’re ok !!! Especially at this time:-) HOW are you all doing??
I almost stopped going to a podiatrist when, probably still in my ’50s, he suggested I wear orthotics and probably the rest of my life. I said no and he didn’t bring it up again. I also was quite annoyed when I went to a new dentist many years ago and he immediately, and nonchalantly, brought up that a bunch of teeth should go when my previous dentist had never brought it up. I stayed with the office but they gave me someone else (whom it turned out wasn’t so hot either). Eventually I left the office suddenly when I had a pain and they told me they no longer deal with my insurance but they had never let me know.
I had to quit my dermatologist. He made too many rash decisions.
I went through agonies with acne until I hit my 20s. The soaps, the creams and the dietary restrictions were mere holding actions against the ever-advancing zit army. I didn’t touch chocolate or Coke for years and for what? Now they have what to me would have been miracle cures. Too late…
You ended up lucky being under the gun..
I had a cyst removed from my head on my fiftieth birthday. It just worked out that way, but it did feel like a good birthday gift. When the doctor was done, he couldn’t find one of his needles. He thought he had probably dropped it on the floor, but he wanted to be sure it was not in my head. He asked his assistant to run across the street to Hardwick’s and buy a cow magnet. (That’s a powerful long thin magnet that farmers feed to cows to catch all the bits of metal that the cow has ingested, so it can be expelled.) With the magnet, he found the needle on the floor.
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