Doctor Who?

Standard


Darlings, the last couple of days have just been a whirl of glam doctor visits and many, many trips to the pharmacy. For one thing, our insurance company refused to refill R Man’s pain medicine, saying he’d uses the first one up too fast. “What’s it to you, you old biddy?” I wanted to ask, but instead back to the doctor for a new scrip and then back to the thrilling Walgreen’s on Castro Street.

Walgreen’s on Castro is 24 hours and big ass big, it churns out so much medicine it makes the Mayo Clinic look like 7-11, so we always go there. Unfortunately, so do plenty of other people, people struggling with English as a Second Language, and people struggling with Too Loaded to Stand Up and, worst of all, people struggling with You Are Too Stinky to Stand So Close to Me, Would You Back the Fuck Up, Please?

So, multiple trips later, meds all straighten out, pretty much, and this morning a jaunt down for an MRI to have a look see at R Man’s back. Since his back pain is so severe he can’t sit in the car, I made a bed in the back seat for R Man. He was very flattering about how luxurious it made the experience. The staff at eh MRI were nice and I abandoned him to their tender mercies while I went down to Sweet Inspiration on Market Street for a mixed berry Danish. Mmmm, delish.

Walking back, I realized the cold I’ve had all week was making the trek up a weeny ass little hill an absolute ordeal. I had asked my doctor yesterday for cough syrup since I can’t stop hacking once I get going and he insisted I come in this afternoon. Oh boy, another trip to the doctor. He listened to the swampy sounds my lungs seem to be making and announced I have bronchitis. Of course, yet another trip to Walgreen’s for antibiotics and cough syrup. And stinky, fucked-up guys who can’t speak English.

Our last medical visit of the week will be one to the neuro-surgeon tomorrow to read R Man’s MRI and see about treatment. I take it as a matter of faith a prescription will be involved. If I spend any more time in Walgreen’s, I plan on demanding retirement rights and stock.

As for the illustration here, thanks to Jason over at Night is Half Gone for reminding me of Cherry Ames, Nurse Bitch. Isn’t she just the picture of lovingly, but firmly reprimanding the distinguished looking patient for being such a sissy about rectal thermometers?

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

9 responses »

  1. Poverino! It’s hell not being 22, isn’t it? But on the other hand, it’s <>nothing<> like the hell of actually being 22, so I know I wouldn’t trade.Cherry Ames inspired one of my favorite career fantasies: Department Store Nurse. Of course that requires a times when there really are department stores worth the name, but still – the glamor of racing from checking the pulse of Mrs. van Chatterington when she has a turn in Better Dresses to dressing little Bobbie’s knee when he has a fall in Toys – with a quick pause on the way to exchange a charged glance with the dishy Italian Maitre D’ in the Crystal Tea Salon!And for you, dear boy: long showers as hot as you can stand it, and a strong infusion made from fresh ginger, lemon, and honey.

    Like

  2. Totally! Not that I’m a perve or anything near (I mean, who DIDN’T use their mother’s earrings as tit clamps in High School) but when I glanced at the nurse pic I totally envisioned her with a nice strap-on that (we, the nice readers) cannot view. Discretion is everything…Sorry to learn of WAGs bullshit and the on-going infirmary you guys are running out there. Feel better soon!

    Like

  3. That Nurse SO wants Distinguished Man’s tight butt and a piece of it. She’s naughty nurse, for sure.Miss Janey sncerely hopes Mr. P and the R Man are soon recovered. Miss J knows the pain of the back pain and the unhelpful insurance behemoth. She hopes R man finds relief.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s