I cough some more blood onto the book I am reading, and pause to give serious thought to the necessity of scheduling a doctor's appointment.
The last time I visited a doctor's office was when I broke my foot during a car accident in 2009. In the seven years since I have made it my life's goal to never see a doctor again. Have a cold? Take some medicine. Unexplainable pain running along my lower back? Take some medicine. Stabbed multiple times in the abdomen after fighting a crackhead for half a grilled cheese sandwich? Take some medicine. This regimen has served me well until a few days ago. In addition to feeling nauseous for hours at a time I have occasionally coughed blood from my mouth. After a brief foray into WebMD - every hypochondriac's personal hell - I determine coughing blood is bad.
"Dr. Funk?"The last time I visited a doctor's office was when I broke my foot during a car accident in 2009. In the seven years since I have made it my life's goal to never see a doctor again. Have a cold? Take some medicine. Unexplainable pain running along my lower back? Take some medicine. Stabbed multiple times in the abdomen after fighting a crackhead for half a grilled cheese sandwich? Take some medicine. This regimen has served me well until a few days ago. In addition to feeling nauseous for hours at a time I have occasionally coughed blood from my mouth. After a brief foray into WebMD - every hypochondriac's personal hell - I determine coughing blood is bad.
My path is clear; I must see a doctor. Doc, once I become familiar with him/her.
After completing my new patient paperwork a second time, I am escorted to the back for measurements by a nurse whose name escapes me. She looks like a Tylenolisha. Hand to God I could fit my legs through her hoop earrings.
Tylenolisha measures me at 5'11" and as I step onto the weight scale, it reads 'well that's disappointing.' Tylenolisha then leads me into an empty room. "Alright Mr. Coats, Dr. Funk will see you in a minute." She braces for my reaction.
I've scheduled an appointment with a general practitioner less than 100 yards away from my apartment and have already filled out the corresponding new patient forms. When I arrive to the office, the receptionist, Judy, greets me with a smile. The office is generically quaint, with just the right amount of home decor magazines (that fucking no one reads because why) tastefully strewn about. Save for myself there are no other patients. Judy asks for my paperwork. "All filled out?"
"Yes," I reply, proud of myself for not procrastinating on an assignment for once.
"Excellent." She takes out a butane lighter and sets my paperwork aflame. I chide myself for deeming it urgent to not die from internal bleeding. "Sorry, your handwriting was super ugly. Eww!" She hands me another set of forms to fill out.
After completing my new patient paperwork a second time, I am escorted to the back for measurements by a nurse whose name escapes me. She looks like a Tylenolisha. Hand to God I could fit my legs through her hoop earrings.
She offers an exasperated sigh that feels both rehearsed and genuine. "Yes that is her name and no she does not enjoy the genre. Please do not mention it to her."
I immediately begin planning how to mention it to her. Dr. Funk sounds like a street basketball legend from the 70s, or a former lead singer trying a solo career from the 70s, or someone in their 70s from the 70s. If I let this opportunity pass me, if I don't attempt an odd reference or forced pun, then what the fuck am I doing with my life? This doctor is about to get funked (that was terrible, I'll fix it in post).
After a few minutes Dr. Funk enters the room. Her perfectly shaped afro dares me to not be an asshole. She is fixated on a series of forms on her clipboard. It is a few more deliciously awkward seconds before she acknowledges me.
"So, Dominic." Dr. Funk raises her eyes just above her clipboard. "I noticed under the question 'Do you think I'm pretty,' under yes and no you scribbled in a maybe box."
"I... I've never met you before literally just now."
She turns dismissively towards some charts. "Sure hope someone doesn't get diagnosed with cancer today." Her bedside manner could use some improvement. Dr. Funk - or a jive talking detective from the 70s! - then takes out a stethoscope to check my heart and breathing. As she rests one hand on my inner thigh, I try and fail to will myself unconscious. "Now if you will breathe in..."
I breathe in.
"And breathe out."
I breathe out.
"Breathe in..."
I breathe in.
"And breathe out."
I breathe out.
"Let me nibble on your ear..."
I sit uncomfortably.
"And breathe out." It's been a while since my last doctor visit but I don't recall this much sexual tension. After a few more standard tests and a quick round of blood work Dr. Funk tells me the reason I have been coughing blood is because I was a ghost the entire time. She writes a prescription for Valium and sends me on my way. On the whole this appointment has been successful.
I breathe in.
"And breathe out."
I breathe out.
"Breathe in..."
I breathe in.
"And breathe out."
I breathe out.
"Let me nibble on your ear..."
I sit uncomfortably.
"And breathe out." It's been a while since my last doctor visit but I don't recall this much sexual tension. After a few more standard tests and a quick round of blood work Dr. Funk tells me the reason I have been coughing blood is because I was a ghost the entire time. She writes a prescription for Valium and sends me on my way. On the whole this appointment has been successful.
As I exit the office I stop in the doorway. "Doc?"
"Yes?"
"I loved you in the Ohio Players."
"FUCK OUT MY OFFICE."
"Yes?"
"I loved you in the Ohio Players."
"FUCK OUT MY OFFICE."
