The 2012 Act Three Journey of an Actress/Coach/Writer.

Day 135 Touch Me!

Posted by themirrenlee on 14/05/2012

Since when did doctors stop touching patients?

I walk into my doctor’s office today, he hears my voice and literally starts our visit by saying, “Laryngitis. It’s viral.”

Not to be deterred, I said, “But my snot’s khaki green.”

Dr. Stuck-in-his-chair say, “We don’t care about the color anymore.”

I say, “But it’s affecting my asthma, and I keep choking when I try to fall asleep.”

Dr. Empathy says, “Yeah, the throat swells up.”



Thanks for that comforting symptom.

You’re a fucking DR. DEATH!

“So what should I do?”

“Go to bed for a week.”

“And if it gets worse … ?”

“Wait at least a week.”

“You’re positive I don’t need antibiotics?” I ask hopefully.

(Especially since two weeks ago you didn’t prescribe them for my tonsillitis so I had to get someone else to, you twat.)

“No, it’s viral.”

Look down my throat.
Look in my ears.
Take my temperature.
Take my blood pressure.
Feel my glands.
Listen to my chest. (I’ve never even seen a stethoscope. Perhaps he doesn’t have one.)

I’m asthmatic. I’d really like my doctor to own a stethoscope.

So I say thank you (FOR WHAT?), and leave. All I could think was, “You are impaired, you are insane, you are a fuckwit.”

Him, not me.

Monkeys could do his job – and probably better. Of course, we’d have to teach them to say, “It’s viral,” but how hard can that be? They could sign it.

And that’s why I love my Sydney doctor.

She examines me by touching me.

She owns a stethoscope.

But I can’t get to Sydney while my health is in the hands of Doctor Death!

Doctors are supposed to live by, “First, do no harm.”

NOT “First, do nothing.”!!!

So I’m going to sleep a whole lot and try to get better. Without any medical help.

Oh, except for sedatives he was happy to give me. Maybe he wants me to do The Sleep Cure that was popular in the 70s. True story. They used to put patients under for weeks at a time, to “cure” things like smoking addictions. This was in Sydney. And the psychiatrist behind it was one of my Mother’s old boyfriends!

A story for another time.

I’m just hangin’ on to my sanity …

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