I started telling you about my trip to Doctor Dumb, but got sidetracked writing about the Brats in the Waiting Room. (Is it wrong to be going about your ordinary life and wondering how to turn each event into a blog entry?)
My usual doctor is away, so I went to see Doctor Dumb. He is also known as Doctor Shortcut, because today he was extremely busy and seemed to be in a terrible hurry.
Doctor Dumb thinks my shooting, nerve-related jabs of red hot metal poker jammed upwards through my skull and out through my hair at the top, which disappear to absolutely no pain whatsoever after a quarter of a second, are... an ear infection. Now, I realise it's presumptuous of me to think I know more than a doctor, but dude, I haven't got no d*mned ear infection. I've had them many many times, and I know what they feel like.
Did I have any pain in my ears? No. Did I have a sore throat, cough, anything in my throat? No. So he decides to look in my ears. He JABS the ear-looky-thing in, and when someone jabs an ear-looky-thing against my eardrum, I jump away, because dude, that's uncomfortable. And yes, ear-looky-thing is the technical term.
He repeats on the side with the stabbing pain. I jump away in the same manner. Ah, so your ears ARE sore! You have an ear infection after all.
He wrote me a script for eardrops, advising that antibiotics would not help. I promptly filed the script in my back pocket, a precursor to throwing it in the bin later on.
So, I will be moving overseas, and I asked him for a letter outlining my diagnosis (anxiety, memory loss and depression) and medication (Zoloft) and he said, when are you moving? Come back and get it next time. (Gee thanks Doc, you're so helpful.)
Since I don't get to the doctor often, I mention that last week, I wet the bed. Groan. I think the last time I did this was 14 years ago, while pregnant with my daughter. Now, wetting the bed, while continually thirsty, is a symptom of Diabetes. So, should I have a glucose tolerence test? No. There's no need, he says. Unh? (So I should just go back to wetting the bed, or what?)
While I'm here, I press my luck and bring up the subject of my finger. (I know, I know, Doctor Useful is obviously not going to be much help, but I was feeling like a bit of a laugh.) For the past three months or so, my right middle finger has been feeling slightly sore, swollen, stiff and just all-round annoying enough for me to continually notice it. Could it be arthritis, I ask? Because, you know, my younger sister has it, and it's really only in her sternum. But no. The fact that only one finger is sore is because I use that hand more. Despite me saying, I've done nothing different over the last three months to cause this, IN FACT, I now avoid doing anything with my right hand that strains it, ie, picking up shopping bags, pulling handles. And even though he didn't even LOOK at my finger, he says that it can't be arthritis, because it's only in one place. My sister must totally not exist, or else she has been misdiagnosed and her arthritis is really, oh I don't know, Elephantitis Of The Testicles. (In her chest.)
(She would totally laugh at that, since she's gay. Testicles. Get it? Never mind.)
Doctor Smart then thinks to ask where I'm moving to. "Finland? In Russia?" No. Not in Russia. Next to Russia. "But nothing next to Russia! Where Finland?" Europe. Next to Sweden. Sweden, Finland, then Russia. (Gestures to invisible world map above my head...) "Finland? In Europe? Russia? Where is Finland?"
So there I am, holding up one hand to try and show Doctor Educated where Western Europe is, ("England!") and how the Scandinavian countries are over to the right, and then you have Russia. And then he pulls out this pearler... "I thought Denmark next to Russia."
For crying out loud. I have no idea where this guy did his university-doctory-learnery-thingy, but evidently, it wasn't in Europe, Russia, or anywhere that a university-educated man could be expected to know that Finland is not in Russia, it is not politely attached to the top of Germany, and it is not in Alaska-which-doesn't-exist. More to the point, I'm still trying to work out why he was so fascinated with mid-air geography when he had no interest in the vocation he had presumably chosen, ie, doctoring the patient sitting in front of him.
In addition, when he wanted to know WHY I was going there, I couldn't make him understand why fiancé wasn't coming here instead, because he had no grasp of what "financial reasons" meant, why "Immigration would be difficult", or why British Citizen meant I was allowed to live in Europe. In the end I just said that if fiancé comes here he Has No Medicare. Ding, light bulb went off above Doctor Clever's head, because finally I had Spoken His Language.
So, inexplicably, he then referred me for a blood test next door. On the order he asked for sugar level and rheumatoid factor. You know, those things he said I didn't need. The nurse rocked. She was very worried I'd faint, it turns out, because I kept saying I was fine. Even after she had to go fishing for a vein, gave up and swapped arms.
I have created a World Map According To Doctor Geography. I've correctly located Finland both inside Russia and attached to the side of Canada. I've also taken the liberty of putting Denmark in a more convenient location.