Now Appearing At My Doctor’s Office

THIS MORNING I EXPERIENCED A NEW BRANCH OF MEDICINE.

I got there at a little after 9 AM, went through the usual litany of give and take with the nurse – “No, I haven’t spontaneously burst into flames since my last visit.” – and then I waited for my doctor to make his entrance.

Little did I know…

I waited the obligatory ten minutes filling the time by looking at the detailed illustrated chart of the human shoulder, got myself a paper cupful of tap water and checked my email. And then it was Showtime!

Somehow that is how it felt as I waited – that I was just killing time until the curtain went up.

There was a soft knock on the door and Doctor H. came flying through like Kramer on the old Seinfeld sitcom. I stood up to shake his hand (I can be courteous), but he was past me and in his chair faster than a cat hearing a can opener.

My first impression was (seriously) that he was wearing makeup. Foundation on a sixty year old man with thinning hair who hails from India does not look very good. Terre Haute (That’s French for, “Thank You, I’ll be here all week.”) is a long way from Bollywood.

I tried not to stare. I let him start the conversation – “Have you spontaneously burst into flames since your last visit, Mr. Kraft? – I gave him the same answer I’d given the nurse, which was on the computer screen in front of him. I sensed that he wasn’t really paying attention anyway – and then things got weird.

Without any notice or even a, “Watch this, Mr. Kraft,” Doctor H began to look at me, smile and wave his hand across his face and up and over his head.

What the…?

Then he did it again and then a third time. I thought about making a break for the door.

After the third time, he spoke, “Well? Huh? Well?

It was obvious that he was expecting me to say something, but what?

“What do you think, Mr. Kraft?

I decided to speak honestly. “Doctor, did you skip your meds this morning?” The other things I was thinking could have been misconstrued. I considered asking him, “Should I call the nurse?” or “Are you tweaking?” but those could have been taken poorly.

When I asked him about his meds he just laughed and said, “Donald Trump! I’m doing a Donald Trump impression. His hair. Get it?”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“I get it now. I just didn’t expect you to do impressions during the check up – and you still didn’t answer my question, Doc.”

I have had some strange doctor visits, but this one was unique. All of a sudden my Doctor morphs into Rich Little and starts trying out his act on me. He has practiced medicine in India, London, Toronto, and now Terre Haute. Perhaps his dream had been to become the “Doctor to the Stars” in Las Vegas. If he had maybe he could have helped either Siegfried or Roy (whichever one got mauled by the tiger) get back on stage sooner. He must have been bitten by the Show Biz Bug years ago, but ended up in Terre Haute by mistake.

In Terre Haute he, at least, has his own room to star in – even though it is only 8’ by 10’ and a seating capacity of 1.

“Donald Trump! I’m doing a Donald Trump impression. His hair. Get it?

Try the veal.

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