At the risk of sounding like everyone else, I hate going to the dentist. This probably stems from traumatic visits to Dr. Sofio in the 60's. Those big, black drills coming out of the ceiling scared the bejesus out of me. The noise was enough to make me shake in my tennies. So over the years I've avoided the dentist at all costs. And the result is typical - I now have horrible teeth. Meth-addict teeth. Well, maybe not that bad but close.
Last week, I got an abcess or infection or something in a tooth on my upper left side. All I know is it hurt like hell. So on Thursday I reluctantly called the dentist. This is the guy I went to see in 2009 thinking I was going to get them all yanked and get dentures. I chickened out after the initial consult. But now I needed some good anti-biotics to knock this out of my tooth. Unfortunately, every dentist in the city was at the Western Region Dental Conference in the Phoenix convention center. So I started popping 4 ibuprophen at a time for the pain. Friday night after having some nice crunchy fish for dinner (and chewing only on my right side), the pain was too much. Went to the Emergency Clinic by our house. John drove me over there since we had been out at dinner anyway.
Now I don't expect much from these clinics, especially on a Friday night. All I needed was the drugs! We get there and the nurse says it will be an hour before I can see a doctor. I can see John sweating and getting itchy so I take him home and go back by myself. Before I knew it, some young internist was taking my vitals and telling me the doc would be right in! Great!
Five minutes later, the door to the room slowly opens. In comes the doctor, and I use this term loosely. The guy is pushing a WALKER, weighs about 250, and has long, greasy grey hair combed back like some old hippie Santa. I counted three solid rolls of flab around his middle. This did NOT instill in me any medical confidence. I wouldn't have let that guy touch me with a 10 foot pole. All I wanted was for him to write the script and get me outta there. I simply can't imagine showing up there with a medical problem requiring any type of physical exam. I mean, seriously, it was like something freaky out of a B horror movie you watched in the 70's while smoking pot!
While I do not condone making fun of people with walkers and other serious problems, I DO think they should not be working as doctors in emergency clinics, especially on a Friday night. Needless to say, I got the script and raced to Fry's to get it filled. But I still couldn't erase the effects of the visit on my mental state. That image will forever be burned in my mind.
You just can't make this stuff up, people!
