Turn Your Head And Cough

The phrase I most dread when visiting the doctor's office. I finally broke down, at the behest of my wife, and took my still throbbing ear to the local voodoo clinic on Easter eve. The clinical diagnosis: "Cool, that is one gnarly ear infection." Now I like to think that I work pretty hard for my meager paycheck, and because of such, I like to think that the medical advice I solicit is actually worthy of my dime. Seeing as how the early blooms on my money tree froze last week with the late snow storm, I am fresh out of spare change. So here I am, reminiscing on day 4 of Levaquin about the trials and tribulations of my rounds with the doctor's office. Like the time I thought I had appendicitis, they thought it was a hernia, but turned out to be a pulled muscle. More dimes. The dreaded SNIP last fall. Ooh. Still hurts, but money WELL spent. Teflon coated packs in my nose from sinus surgery, twice. Sleep study and CPAP titration. Which is an eerie feeling being filmed while you sleep, when at your most vulnerable, and only they know what is expelled (verbal and otherwise) while conquering dreamland. Waking up from surgery and spouting off who knows what to the first available ear. Many many dimes. I think out of all the glorious medical moments, my new most dreaded phrase: "Step up on the scale." Now there is no need to rub it in. No need for lecture. I still maintain it is by fault of the mirror in my bathroom. You know how anorexia creates for the afflicted the illusion of being plump even in the face of a mirror of skin and bones? Well, my mirror is the antithesis of anorexia. I see myself and think "ooh, I look good today, must have been my will power's victory over that Nutty Cone last night." But then the voodoo clinic witch doctor spells out the cold, hard, bitter truth. It is time to buy a new mirror. Finally, money well spent.