I spent some time on my way home from his office and the pharmacy considering the best way to express my feelings about him and this was the most concise, polite, and yet, accurate observation I had to make about him.  If there wasn’t a stupid doctor shortage in my area I would actually consider telling him this to his face.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dr. – I’d just like to tell you, you are a Butthead.  Have a nice day.”

Do you think it would go over well?  I figure I really need to wait till I have a new doctor and my files are in the process of transferring before I risk upsetting him.  I once lost my temper with the phone company and everytime I talked to someone after that they’d look up my file and turn suddenly cold.  I’m positive our account had a comment or two stuck to it.  I’m bearing this lesson in mind before I share my feelings with my doctor.

My doctor and I have a history of buttheaded-ness (well his buttheaded-ness, I certainly am not a butthead – although I may occassionally play one on TV).  I try to get medical treatment for what ails me, he tries to show me how big a jerk he can be, while at the same time expressing how big an idiot he feels I am.  It’s always shocked me because you’d think a young man like him (he’s hardly older than me) wouldn’t ascribe to the “women are ignorant children when it comes to their health and bodies and have no idea what is really going on” medical philosophy but that indeed seems to be the case.  That or, he just dislikes me in particular.  I’ve never asked around.

So, you may be wondering why I went to the doctor in the first place (all things considered) – I’m starting to wonder that myself.  I’ve been suffering with a toothache for just over a week now.  I’m in serious need of a root canal and for certain (very good) reasons (that’s a whole other story which in brief looks like: Major root canal, with
still infected tooth, therefore not working anesthetic, followed by having same tooth pulled (due to botch up of first root canal), while still infected and therefore not working
anesthetic.) I’ve been avoiding the dentist.  About a week ago the infection flared up again.

Normally these infections go away on their own (I’m very patient).  But this time it just kept getting worse and worse until I realized this weekend I had to get medical treatment.  I needed, if not an antibiotic, some serious painkillers.  Wakizashi was all for going to Emerg. or a Walk-in Clinic, and I was considering just going to the dentist but I changed my mind for one reason alone.  There is one particular antibiotic I’m allergic to.  It’s not very common but it is often given for tooth infections.  I discovered my allergy when it was perscribed to me and I proceeded to vomit all day.  It was a bad experience exasperated by the fact that I stopped eating (thinking I had the flu – no food = no throw up), couldn’t drive, and Wakizashi was working late.  By the time I got to the hospital and found out what was causing me to be so sick (I had been taking the antibiotic all day unaware it was my problem) I had to be admitted due to dehydration.  Let’s not go there again, I hate throwing up more than I dislike my doctor; who happens to be the only person with the name of the antibiotic on file.

My logic went like this.  I have a very basic problem (toth infection) with a very basic solution (antibiotics and pain killers).  There is no need for conversation or diagnosis.  I can go in, get my perscription (knowing it won’t make me violently ill) and go home.    Everyone’s happy.  Sadly, it seems I underestimated the buttheaded-ness of my doctor.

“Hi Megan.  How are you today?”  (Why do they ask this?  I’m in the doctor’s office how do they think I am? Obviously SICK!  But that’s not what I said, I said fine like I was expected to.)

“That’s good.  What seems to be the problem today?”

“I have a tooth infection….”

“Well,” he interepts with a chuckling, condescending tone; you know, it’s the tone you use with a small child, “Well, of course it didn’t work honey dogs don’t wear shoes.” (Or square things don’t fit in round holes, or, I think you get the picture).  ”You need to go see a dentist for that.  Not a doctor.”  (Read:  You silly woman, hasn’t anyone told you there are doctors just for tooth problems, we call them dentists.  Did you want me to help you find one?)

“REAALLLLYYY???  You don’t say?  Imagine that.  I’ve lived on this earth (in this century mind you) for almsot 30 years and I had never heard of this oddity you call a Dentist.  Where can I find one?”

No, no.  I didn’t say that.  But I was so frustrated with him (I mean can’t we just have one short and sweet appointment with no rude-ness involved?) that I didn’t actually modulate my tone.

“Oh yes, I know that.  But you are the only person with a record of the antibiotic I’m allergic to and seeing as I’d perfer not to throw up for the next 24 hours and a dentist can’t do anything until I’m on antibiotics anyway I thought I might as well come see you.”

Oddly enough, Dr. Butthead is so rude himself he seemed completely unphased by my totally rude response.  Instead he glanced at my file, said the name of the antibiotic (clyndamicine) and then proceeded to tell me how much better it is for tooth infections than my other options.  That’s nice…  I’m pretty sure that vomitting it up will negate the effects so I’m still going to vote for one of my lesser options.

He did suggest I write it down somewhere this time (I’ve had to ask before).   Which was either the first considerate thing he’s ever done for me, or his way of ensuring that I never come back to see him.  Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual.

All that to say that I’m not feeling up to par lately which is why my postings have dwindled off.  It is immensely hard to think coherently when you are boucing between immense pain and codine induced drowsiness.  Hopefully, the antibiotics should kick in and I’ll be back to my chatty, deep thinking self in a day or two.