Let's Talk Medicine
No, not medicine that you take...the field of medicine. That's my
theme for today. I know one of you came here looking for rocks,
Stacie, but not today.
I shall begin with the Splinter Tale. A better version of this can be
found at Redneck Diva's place, she of Abby and the Amazing
Technicolor Childfoot fame. We seem to be living the same life.
Some days she comes out on top, some days I do. I only have my
child's butt to talk about. Sorry, no pictures. I'm pretty sure we have
a law about that sort of thing here in Missouri.
My 8-year-old told me he had a tick on his butt. I looked at it, and
agreed. Then it turned out to be a splinter doing a tick impression.
HH carved it out with alcohol and a Q-Tip. Or diiiiid he???? Let
me answer for you: NO. The next morning, when I took off the
BandAid coated with Triple Antibiotic Ointment (a Wal*Mart
brand) he still had a little black speck...surrounded by some pus.
Not a lot. But enough to watch it so it didn't turn out like that
Thing That Wouldn't Heal on poor little Redneck Abby's heel.
HH dug at it again last night. This time, he called in reinforcements:
the tweezers. I said it looked like the splinter was still there. HH
said it was just the hole where the splinter used to be. He declared
the operation to be a success. The butt declared differently this
morning. It looked a bit better, but there was some pus, and an
annoying little black speck. I slathered it in ointment again. At
noon, I squeezed at it with a tissue until a bunch of skin came off,
the boy screamed, and my Hillbilly Mama declared the wound
to be splinter-free. We'll see what the weekend brings. Hope-
fully, not a trip to the ER to show a doctor my boy's butt.
I will say that I resisted my Hillbilly Mama's home remedy of
strapping a slice of raw bacon on his butt overnight. How's that
for Drawing Salve, Diva? What do you think the doc would have
to say about THAT? We are so going to be persecuted by child
services, aren't we?
This morning, I had a trip to the doctor for a check-up. Does a
person like Hillbilly Mom have an uneventful trip to the doctor?
Need I answer for you? I didn't think so. Driving down our gravel
road, an odd thing happened. A murder of crows (I think that's
the correct term for a buttload of crows) came swooping right up
the road at me. It was just like that scene in Cold Mountain, only
Jude Law wasn't walking along the road, and there was no snow,
and I haven't been leaning backward down a well looking over
my shoulder with a mirror. About a mile further up the county
road, a turkey flew over the trees to cross the road. He must
have excaped from one of Diva's friends' vans. Oh, but that was
not the end of the roadblocks. A large metal gutter-looking thingy
was in (yes, IN) the road by the local high school. And just before
the old rickety rusty bridge, there was a white rack that looked
like it fell off an old Bunny Bread truck.
After a successful run of the obstacle course, I arrived at the
doctor's office, which is on the 4th floor of a building next to
the hospital. There was no parking in my lot of choice, but two
people were walking out, so I circled back. And got stuck behind
the guy in the little golf-cart-thingy who will drive you up to the
door if you are a lazy-butt or have kids who pretend it's a Silver
Dollar City trolley. Because of this guy waiting to pick up a rider,
a usurper circled in the other way and hijacked my new parking
space. Doggone you, trolley-driver! Oooh! That old man who
whipped in there knew I was waiting for that spot. Good thing
I didn't go all Peter Benton on him, like on yesterday's ER on
TBS, where Peter had to drive the beat-up loaner car, and a
prosthesis salesman took his Doctor's Only parking space.
Perhaps it's a good thing I didn't start something, because Peter
Benton got whacked with a home-run swing of a prosthetic leg
for his trouble.
Once inside, I signed in and took my preferred seat, which is
actually in the hallway area, not in the main area with 4 rows of
chairs. As you know, people piss me off. There was absolutely
nobody in my hallway area. UNTIL...a lady got up from the
4-row area, waltzed over, and sat down one chair away from me.
Oh, and the even better news is that someone she knew saw her,
and also came over, and sat across the hallway, which meant that
they SHOUTED to each other for 45 minutes about insulin and
some new pill instead of it. The whole waiting room could not
hear the nurse call people's names. She had to repeat them about
three times, due to the Chatty Cathys. THEN a woman in a
wheelchair rolled over and asked us if we wanted to buy a candy
bar for proceeds to go to Relay For Life. I do not like to be
solicited in a waiting room, and politely declined. Then she asked
the insulin lady, who said, "Oh, I don't think a candy bar is a
good idea, but I will give you a donation." Which I think she only
did because it gave her an excuse to TALK even more. Then the
wheelchair lady parked herself in between the Cathys, and they
shouted over her. I was a bit concerned that my blood pressure
would blow the needle right of that ol' sphygmomanometer when
they called me in.
Thank the Gummi Mary, the loudest Cathy was called in ahead
of me. I must compliment my doctor today. My wait was only
1:45, compared to the usual 2 hours. Good thing I like him, or
I'd take my business elsewhere. After the Cathy left, all I had
to listen two was two ladies who had a bum glucose checker
(they must have been running a special on diabetes today), and
had brought it to exchange for a new one. The one said, "I can't
believe I just got it and it doesn't work. It needs to be returned.
Of course, I didn't pay anything for it, but they need to know so
they don't give it out again."
WTF? I have never gotten anything medical "free". Oh, my no!
I am the one the pharmacy charges an extra $20 on one
prescription, then it takes 40 minutes and an act of Congress
to get my refund the next month when I call them on it. AND,
they treat me like I'm the Devil's handmaiden. Like I'm Nadine
in THE STAND. Or Cruella DeVille in 101 DALMATIONS.
Or Kerry Weaver on ER. I don't get no respect.
Once I made it back the the exam room, where I would linger
for an hour, I reopened my Readers Digest. I always go to
the doctor prepared to wait. I heard men talking. On the main
floor, near the elevators, were three men and a ladder. It was
kind of like that commercial, about how one does the work
while the others watch. I could only see from the feet to the
waist of the one with his head up in the ceiling. It kind of
reminded me of ER again. I thought maybe there were some
men up in the ceiling of the 4th floor, too. Then I saw a guy
swinging along outside the window. A doggone window-
washer!!! I'm glad I wasn't in one of those paper gowns, in
a compromising position. Because the shades are those wide
vertical thingies that mean you might as well not have any
shades, because the light comes in, and you can still see out.
And in.
The doctor finally arrived, and told me my labs were excellent.
Those were his words. My blood pressure was a textbook
120/80, which is good for me, considering the whole reason
I was there was for a check-up because I'm on blood pressure
meds. So for all of you keeping track of my health for me
(MABEL) you can put a smiley face in the logbook.
While there, I mentioned that I've had a hard time getting over
that not-Type A Influenza, and I thought there was still some
such thing going on with my sinuses, since I get headaches
going from the heat to the air conditioning, and I'm stuffed up
and still cough up cloudy whitey-yellowish blobs. He wrote
out a couple prescriptions like for Flonase and stuff. Then I
said that I had a pain in my chest when I coughed, which was
probably just a muscle thingy because I've coughed so much
for the last 6 weeks. I even showed him about where it was,
like where the boob would hook onto the sternum if boobs
were hooked onto anything. He put one finger there and
pushed, and after repairing the shattered window and
resuscitating the window-washer whose heart was stopped
by the shrillness of my scream, the doc said, "Yep. It's a
muscle." Go figure! That man is a freakin' genius.
And now, the credits roll on another episode of "Untold Stories
of Hillbilly Mom's Doctor's Office."
theme for today. I know one of you came here looking for rocks,
Stacie, but not today.
I shall begin with the Splinter Tale. A better version of this can be
found at Redneck Diva's place, she of Abby and the Amazing
Technicolor Childfoot fame. We seem to be living the same life.
Some days she comes out on top, some days I do. I only have my
child's butt to talk about. Sorry, no pictures. I'm pretty sure we have
a law about that sort of thing here in Missouri.
My 8-year-old told me he had a tick on his butt. I looked at it, and
agreed. Then it turned out to be a splinter doing a tick impression.
HH carved it out with alcohol and a Q-Tip. Or diiiiid he???? Let
me answer for you: NO. The next morning, when I took off the
BandAid coated with Triple Antibiotic Ointment (a Wal*Mart
brand) he still had a little black speck...surrounded by some pus.
Not a lot. But enough to watch it so it didn't turn out like that
Thing That Wouldn't Heal on poor little Redneck Abby's heel.
HH dug at it again last night. This time, he called in reinforcements:
the tweezers. I said it looked like the splinter was still there. HH
said it was just the hole where the splinter used to be. He declared
the operation to be a success. The butt declared differently this
morning. It looked a bit better, but there was some pus, and an
annoying little black speck. I slathered it in ointment again. At
noon, I squeezed at it with a tissue until a bunch of skin came off,
the boy screamed, and my Hillbilly Mama declared the wound
to be splinter-free. We'll see what the weekend brings. Hope-
fully, not a trip to the ER to show a doctor my boy's butt.
I will say that I resisted my Hillbilly Mama's home remedy of
strapping a slice of raw bacon on his butt overnight. How's that
for Drawing Salve, Diva? What do you think the doc would have
to say about THAT? We are so going to be persecuted by child
services, aren't we?
This morning, I had a trip to the doctor for a check-up. Does a
person like Hillbilly Mom have an uneventful trip to the doctor?
Need I answer for you? I didn't think so. Driving down our gravel
road, an odd thing happened. A murder of crows (I think that's
the correct term for a buttload of crows) came swooping right up
the road at me. It was just like that scene in Cold Mountain, only
Jude Law wasn't walking along the road, and there was no snow,
and I haven't been leaning backward down a well looking over
my shoulder with a mirror. About a mile further up the county
road, a turkey flew over the trees to cross the road. He must
have excaped from one of Diva's friends' vans. Oh, but that was
not the end of the roadblocks. A large metal gutter-looking thingy
was in (yes, IN) the road by the local high school. And just before
the old rickety rusty bridge, there was a white rack that looked
like it fell off an old Bunny Bread truck.
After a successful run of the obstacle course, I arrived at the
doctor's office, which is on the 4th floor of a building next to
the hospital. There was no parking in my lot of choice, but two
people were walking out, so I circled back. And got stuck behind
the guy in the little golf-cart-thingy who will drive you up to the
door if you are a lazy-butt or have kids who pretend it's a Silver
Dollar City trolley. Because of this guy waiting to pick up a rider,
a usurper circled in the other way and hijacked my new parking
space. Doggone you, trolley-driver! Oooh! That old man who
whipped in there knew I was waiting for that spot. Good thing
I didn't go all Peter Benton on him, like on yesterday's ER on
TBS, where Peter had to drive the beat-up loaner car, and a
prosthesis salesman took his Doctor's Only parking space.
Perhaps it's a good thing I didn't start something, because Peter
Benton got whacked with a home-run swing of a prosthetic leg
for his trouble.
Once inside, I signed in and took my preferred seat, which is
actually in the hallway area, not in the main area with 4 rows of
chairs. As you know, people piss me off. There was absolutely
nobody in my hallway area. UNTIL...a lady got up from the
4-row area, waltzed over, and sat down one chair away from me.
Oh, and the even better news is that someone she knew saw her,
and also came over, and sat across the hallway, which meant that
they SHOUTED to each other for 45 minutes about insulin and
some new pill instead of it. The whole waiting room could not
hear the nurse call people's names. She had to repeat them about
three times, due to the Chatty Cathys. THEN a woman in a
wheelchair rolled over and asked us if we wanted to buy a candy
bar for proceeds to go to Relay For Life. I do not like to be
solicited in a waiting room, and politely declined. Then she asked
the insulin lady, who said, "Oh, I don't think a candy bar is a
good idea, but I will give you a donation." Which I think she only
did because it gave her an excuse to TALK even more. Then the
wheelchair lady parked herself in between the Cathys, and they
shouted over her. I was a bit concerned that my blood pressure
would blow the needle right of that ol' sphygmomanometer when
they called me in.
Thank the Gummi Mary, the loudest Cathy was called in ahead
of me. I must compliment my doctor today. My wait was only
1:45, compared to the usual 2 hours. Good thing I like him, or
I'd take my business elsewhere. After the Cathy left, all I had
to listen two was two ladies who had a bum glucose checker
(they must have been running a special on diabetes today), and
had brought it to exchange for a new one. The one said, "I can't
believe I just got it and it doesn't work. It needs to be returned.
Of course, I didn't pay anything for it, but they need to know so
they don't give it out again."
WTF? I have never gotten anything medical "free". Oh, my no!
I am the one the pharmacy charges an extra $20 on one
prescription, then it takes 40 minutes and an act of Congress
to get my refund the next month when I call them on it. AND,
they treat me like I'm the Devil's handmaiden. Like I'm Nadine
in THE STAND. Or Cruella DeVille in 101 DALMATIONS.
Or Kerry Weaver on ER. I don't get no respect.
Once I made it back the the exam room, where I would linger
for an hour, I reopened my Readers Digest. I always go to
the doctor prepared to wait. I heard men talking. On the main
floor, near the elevators, were three men and a ladder. It was
kind of like that commercial, about how one does the work
while the others watch. I could only see from the feet to the
waist of the one with his head up in the ceiling. It kind of
reminded me of ER again. I thought maybe there were some
men up in the ceiling of the 4th floor, too. Then I saw a guy
swinging along outside the window. A doggone window-
washer!!! I'm glad I wasn't in one of those paper gowns, in
a compromising position. Because the shades are those wide
vertical thingies that mean you might as well not have any
shades, because the light comes in, and you can still see out.
And in.
The doctor finally arrived, and told me my labs were excellent.
Those were his words. My blood pressure was a textbook
120/80, which is good for me, considering the whole reason
I was there was for a check-up because I'm on blood pressure
meds. So for all of you keeping track of my health for me
(MABEL) you can put a smiley face in the logbook.
While there, I mentioned that I've had a hard time getting over
that not-Type A Influenza, and I thought there was still some
such thing going on with my sinuses, since I get headaches
going from the heat to the air conditioning, and I'm stuffed up
and still cough up cloudy whitey-yellowish blobs. He wrote
out a couple prescriptions like for Flonase and stuff. Then I
said that I had a pain in my chest when I coughed, which was
probably just a muscle thingy because I've coughed so much
for the last 6 weeks. I even showed him about where it was,
like where the boob would hook onto the sternum if boobs
were hooked onto anything. He put one finger there and
pushed, and after repairing the shattered window and
resuscitating the window-washer whose heart was stopped
by the shrillness of my scream, the doc said, "Yep. It's a
muscle." Go figure! That man is a freakin' genius.
And now, the credits roll on another episode of "Untold Stories
of Hillbilly Mom's Doctor's Office."
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 3:26 PM
3 Comments:
Now you've done it. All it takes is one description of your snot, and you'll be inundated with snot requests for years to come. Enjoy!
PS - do you have any orange snot?
I came here through Just Linda. Thanks for the giggles! I'll have to come back again!
Stewlicious,
No, but thank you for asking. Perhaps you tell us more about your own orange snot. On your own blog, of course.
AvMom,
Welcome to the Mansion. Come back whenever you like, but you might want to call first in case I am busy with my Cabana Boys.
At the risk of being the first to break the news to you...McDonalds Diet Coke is not the best. That would be Sonic Cherry Diet Coke, elixir of the gods.
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