Whenever I go to a doctor, I experience one of exactly two outcomes:
- The doctor thinks I'm overreacting to my symptoms and wasting his time, or
- The doctor scolds me for waiting too long to come in.
I was pretty sure my sinuses thing had morphed into pneumonia, and I was determined to nip it in the bud this time. I reported my symptoms, and the doctor was unimpressed. "I think you'll live," he sneered. He listened to my lungs. They sounded fine, he said, shooting me his best "Were you just lonely, or what?" look. I insisted on an x-ray, and he relented.
CUT TO: 20 MINUTES LATER
THE DOCTOR enters the examining room, x-rays and antibiotics in hand.
DOCTOR
How did you know?
I stammered something about familiarity with the symptoms, which is true enough, but the details are embarrassing. Starved of oxygen, my brain functions slowed. Work became harder, much harder. I had to read things four or five times to understand them, and then I quickly forgot what I understood. Taking antibiotics wasn't required just for sound health; it was a professional imperative. I needed my smart pills. Or at least some less-stupid pills.
Most tellingly, I couldn't follow the plot on TV shows. That's when I knew my old, stupid-fying friend was back.
Me no understand cartoon. Brain...not...think...good. Need doctor.