Trust Me, I’m A Doctor
SOME MORNINGS WHEN I CAN’T GET my regular seat in the corner at St. Arbucks (Cursed interlopers!) I am forced by circumstances to plop down next to a group of early morning Geezers and Geezerettes. They are nice enough folks but I’m not isolated enough to do my writing uninterrupted.
A couple of that group are in the medical field and work at a nearby hospital. When they start chatting about things medical I can’t help but eavesdrop, big time. As a result I have picked up little bits and pieces of information about obscure medical conditions – and you know what they say about little bits of knowledge. I am now, officially, a dangerous man. I now feel qualified to make snap diagnoses on everyone who walks through the door.
“Oh, here comes Bob. My, my, judging from the way he is walking I’d say that he has an advanced case of the ‘Creeping Ganga Ganga’ that is spread only by contact with the dreaded Fungo Bat.”
OK, so it turned out that he just had a stone in his shoe – but I could have been right.
Listening to the Nurse and the guy who has something to do with Ambulances is like watching out-takes from an old rerun of “ER.” I figure that if I can pronounce “Sphenopalatine Ganglioneuralgia” without spitting on myself I should be qualified to use the term in casual conversation.
“Yes, yes. I recall a bad case of Sphenopalatine Ganglioneuralgia. The poor man was in terrible pain. I advised him that he could avoid a recurrence if he would just slow down while eating his ice cream.”
Doesn’t that sound impressive? I may just stop by Toys R Us later to get a stethoscope to hang around my neck. Perhaps I should also get some pills that can help stop folks Sternutating. Either that or just continue giving them a hearty “Gezundheit.”
As I was eavesdropping my medico-neighbors got into a lively discussion about ugly skin conditions. That is not what I want to hear at 7 AM. They talk and I begin to itch.
It was educational to a degree, but outside of the nonsense mentioned above, I don’t see much legal value to it all. I can’t put out the proverbial shingle and start calling myself “Dr. Krafty” – unless I move to Central America and offer miracle cures online.
Hey! It’s a living. Not an ethical one to be sure, but…a guy’s gotta eat.
While sitting near this early morning bunch is entertaining and mildly informative, it is, after all, an emergency landing strip for my flight of creativity. I miss my corner where I can mumble to myself and nobody gets concerned because I am far enough away from the conversational mainstream. My ears don’t scoop up any stray trains of thought.
I’ve mixed sufficient metaphors today. I think I’ll go get a bagel. I am dealing with a case of Borborygmi and I think that some little nosh in my tummy might quiet that annoying rumbling.