I have been sick this week. Again. It’s been a weird year for it. I took a couple of sick days, and worked from home another day so as to not spread the “wealth” around the office.
I really couldn’t afford any more downtime than absolutely necessary, so I got in to see my doctor (the sublimely fabulous Lisa Capaldini) on Monday. She thought it might be strep, and offered treat me for that even though the results of the throat culture wouldn’t come back for a couple of days.
“Yes, treat me now,” I answered.
“Pills, or a shot in the butt?”
“Butt, please,” I said, all atwinkle for her benefit. No, really.
When she returned to the office, she was carrying a preloaded syringe, something that looked more like a contraption than the standard disposable syringe+sharp that I’m used to seeing.
“Drop your pants,” she said, her turn to twinkle. “This is so 1950s! This tube of a syringe and good old-fashioned medicine.”
I dropped trou, furry ass catching the chill of the AC in the office. “Yeah, this has to be great for you.” I rolled my eyes. “Y’know, being a dyke and all.”
“Ahhh, I love my job! Left or right cheek?”
“Uhhhhh, wow. I was just thinking about which side I might prefer, and you actually did ask…Left, I guess.”
Getting an IM (intramuscular) shot is a two-parter of pain. First there’s the actual needle stick of an 18-gauge sharp. Then there’s the liquid pain of the not quite osmotically- and/or pH-matched penicillin. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a lot of pain, but it did take me back to other times, when I was a kid, where the pain was the worst that I could imagine—and no, it wasn’t in the 1950s, smart-asses.
“I love my job!” she says, with a nuanced glee that speaks to our long history as doctor-patient and as friends and, back in the day, as co-caregivers to Allen. “Remember, you have to stick around for 15 minutes so we’re sure you’re not going to have a reaction and die or something.”
Lisa is a very good diagnostician. As he has been talking about lately, there’s too much shame-based behavior and prejudice around sex and even simple human biology, but none of it with Lisa. She just “shows up” (her words) for her patients. And helps as she can, bringing to bear her clinical experience and her medical knowledge.
Regular readers will know I’ve been on a bit of a tear lately in response to the bit of a tear the crazies (Pat Robertson and Bill O’Reilly, specifically) have been on, and I chuckled when I <sarcasm>considered that maybe I was being punished by jod himself!</sarcasm>
Which then got me to thinking, what if others who led with that spiritual smegma known as dogma were my diagnostician?
<br/> Bill O’Reilly: we let the cellular terrorists have you.<br/> William Dembski: your disease is too complex to have evolved on its own.<br/> George Bush: God spoke to me and said He did it.<br/> Fred Phelps: God hates you, faggot!<br/> Sean Hannity: God did it because he’s on our side. Shut UP. Cut his mic.<br/> Rush Limbaugh: God did it. Want some pills?<br/> Margaret Thatcher: who cares?<br/> Andrew Sullivan: I’m sure you didn’t get it the good way.<br/> hoody: God did it because you’re disordered.<br/> green-flash: It’s just sin.<br/> Pat Robertson: God’s turned his back on your immune system.Technorati Tags