Doctors Favorite Patients

If you want your doctor to hurt his frontal lobe by rolling his eyeballs too far into his skull, just say "Dr. Oz says . . ." or "My friend's sister's friend said I probably have. . . ." My friends and I fall into that "Not My Favorite Patient" category.

When I was sick recently, in the course of 24 hours, I started trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I first diagnosed myself as having heartburn and went out to purchase a large package of antacids. When that didn't work, I remembered reading in People magazine about all of these stars doing colon cleanses and thought that might be my problem, so went back out and found one better - a whole body detox cleanser. Still no relief. Alka Seltzer seemed like the next best option and I was lucky to have found a neighborhood-sized box - on sale. Still no relief. Finally, my daughter told me that her husband told her that my symptoms sounded like his previous symptoms; I probably had appendicitis.

By day 2 of my symptoms, I decided to check with a professional - so I went online to check wikipedia. My symptoms were too general to choose one diagnosis. Feeling that I had at least eliminated many diagnoses - I decided to see if an emergency room doctor could figure it out. He could and after a week in the hospital, I came home to enough over-the-counter medicine that I now have plenty of things to give out on Halloween.

I'm not the only one who self-diagnoses. One woman finally headed to her doctor with the sound medical conclusion that her problem was that her liver hurt. Now, of all the various parts we have in our body, that was one I totally forgot about. Yes, you hear about people who drink too much having liver problems but I've never heard anyone complain that their liver hurt. And now I know why - the doctor said that there are no nerve endings in the liver so it couldn't "hurt". And he determined that it wasn't her liver, but her broken ribs that hurt. I guess it was in the vicinity.

I'm sure that the only saving grace for doctor's having to deal with people who self-diagnose is that it gives them things to talk about at cocktail parties and during surgery. I just hope they weren't laughing so hard that they dropped a small pointed medical tool into an open wound. That is the only thing I can come up with that could be causing the pain in my side.

Casual Dress Seems to Have its Limits

I have noticed that some people in my town are so chill that they are comfortable wearing their pajamas to the gas station - even going inside to get their large soda or coffee. I have never had the guts to do that but I have taken a baby step by walking my dog in my neighborhood in my PJs.

This weekend, I think I by-passed those PJ-wearing citizens. I was in a Pet Parade, dressed as a bottle of ketchup. I had the whole sha-bang, a large red bottle that covered me from neck almost to my ankles with a red squeeze-bottle hat that made me tall enough to be considered to play with the Spurs. I did have my 7 pound dog with me, dressed as a hot dog, but he wasn't much bigger than a jumbo hot dog, so bareley visable beside the ketchup hulk. The parade was a bit haphazard, with us walking down the sidewalk while people drove past and stared. There were a few other people dressed up but they were more socially appropriate in superman capes and fairy wings.

After the parade my dog and I were - dog tired - and had to drag ourselves the 6 blocks back to the car. This time, there were no other costumed animals - or people around, but it took me awhile to notice. I walked with my head drooping, making my ketchup bottle body look like it had been squeezed by Attila the Hun. My nozzle hat had the crowd parting like it was the Red Sea. Finally, I looked up to stares of people in cars and on the sidewalks who didn't know if they should laugh or run after me with their french fries.

I quickly took off my hat but there was no getting around the big red ketchup tube around my body. I started thinking that it might have been fun to have had the word STOP on me and just run into the street periodically. I might not have gotten respect as ketchup, but I think I would have gotten attention as a moving Stop Sign. I think my dog was reading my mind because he looked at me in disgust - or maybe pity - and quickly started dragging me toward the car.

PJ people - you have nothing on me. Try going to the gas station as a ketchup bottle and then we'll talk!

High School Reunion

I went to my ____ high school reunion. I won't say how many years but I will say that most everyone was retired - except a few of us who either enjoyed working or enjoyed money. What surprised me was that people either didn't remember me much or remembered me totally differently than I did. For example, I saw a friend from grade school who said "If someone asked me to say 20 things about what you would be, funny wouldn't be one of them." Geez, I've always cracked myself up.

I can remember honing my craft by doing nightly visits with my good friend to read the various special occasion cards in the "Humor" category in the drugstore. You know the ones that say "I couldn't decide whether to get you a car or a diamond ring for your Birthday - so I got you a card". That was funny back then. Now I wonder who was paid to write something that lame. I'm not saying I didn't buy that card - a few times - but still . . . .

Maybe that is where my love of humor started. Giggling and snorting while reading the cards aloud was one of my teen year pleasures. Soon I wanted to tell my own funny stories. It makes life a lot easier when every bump in the road of life experiences is made into a a hilarious tale.

"Yeah, I went to a conference with 2 different shoes on - and the worst part was that the heels were 2 different heights! I only noticed when I went to the ladies room and wondered why, when I walked, I heard click, shhhh, click, shhhh."

That's a funny story, my grade school friend. And I have more where that came from. I want a re-count.