Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

A Medical Bacon Emergency

with 2 comments

After allegedly knifing myself in the foot with a newly-sharpened Henckel and spending the night in agony, we decided to go to the doctor. Like most people, I am not a big fan of doctors or hospitals or needles or dying–especially needles (followed closely by dying). A heroin overdose is not in my future, since I can’t stand needles and I don’t know where one would find heroin. How do you even inquire about heroin casually? “I love your new haircut, and speaking of words that start with the letter ‘H’….” Seems awkward. When I talked to the consulting nurse on the phone, she assured me that I would not need a tetanus shot; I had one in ’05, the last time I ripped my foot open. I limped to the car and we headed to Group Health on Capital Hill.

Once I was installed in the patient room, the nurse tried her hand at comedy and made fun of my needle phobia; she insisted that I get the “new” tetanus shot. I turned into a poopy six-year old. I don’t think she knew what hit her. When I make my mind up about something, there is literally nothing you can do about it, especially when it comes to medicine. Our 10-minute argument consisted of her detailing the benefits of having the shot, and me saying “NO”. She finally shrugged and said, “Well, it’s up for the Doctor to decide, anyways!” I said, “NO, it’s NOT.” My doctor, who is made of the awesome, came in and said, “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to have her shots.” I said, “Well, someone was being an asshole and threatening another someone with a tetanus shot, which this someone is most certainly not getting. I will only get the shot if you think I will die in the next two days without it; otherwise, if she comes near me with a needle, I will release my attorney upon her. Luckily, he’s just out in the waiting room.” Dr. Waarvick said, “The shot is bullshit, you don’t need it, I’ll just say you declined. Now if I waive the tetanus shot, will you do what I ask of you?” I was so relieved, I said yes without asking what my other option was. “Okay!” he said. “So what we’re going to do is give your foot FIVE DIFFERENT SHOTS, with one right into the wound. That way, I can numb the whole thing and then poke around inside the laceration. Sound good?” *SIGH* The very definition of ‘ironic’.

I got a little hysterical. And by a little, I mean a lot. Tears, whining, arguing, pleading. The nice thing about my doctor is that he listens to me. I told him that I’d rather be drawn and quartered, and came up with a thousand horrible things I would rather do, and he came up with a different solution. So I’m on these crazy antibiotics (again) for the next 24 hours, and if there’s no change, I have to come in and get the procedure done. I think that’s fair.

That being said, I never want to go back there again. I’d rather cut my own foot off. My doctor also challenged me to a Bacon-Off, to see who could eat more glorious bacon, right before he told me I was fat. Nice timing. So he said: Bacon-Off first, Weight Watchers second. I’m glad he has his priorities straight.

*teeters off to get some bacon*


Written by sn0tteh

March 26, 2008 at 7:32 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

2 Responses

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  1. If only everything could be resolved with bacon.


    March 26, 2008 at 9:37 PM

  2. I seek to prove that point in my lifetime; everything CAN be resolved with bacon. We just need to *believe*.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    March 26, 2008 at 9:46 PM

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