For months now I have been looking for a way to get out of my alleged “promise” to my husband that I would get a gym membership. (I am pretty sure he made the whole promise up, there isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make me commit to the gym…but I digress.) Little did I know that a simple trip to the doctor would resolve my problem.
I prefer to visit doctors that are generous with the meds. Unfortunately, this rules out 100% of Dutch doctors. Therefore, the only other option I can afford is Dr. Mom.
During my recent trip to the US I saw my chance. Dr. Mom was in her “office” (i.e. the couch). She was bundled up under a blanket watching the TV guide channel and had a glass of wine in hand. This is the ideal combination – bored, buzzed and too lazy to get up. I grabbed a seat and pulled out my litany of ailments.
Me: Mom, I have this terrible acid reflux. It feels like my stomach and esophagus mated and I’m carrying their triplets in the back of my throat.
Dr. Mom: That’s called motherhood. You’ll have that forever. Here are some old acid reflux pills of mine. Take one a day.
Suhweet! Expired (read “aged to perfection”) meds are the best! Buoyed by my success, I carried on to the next item on the list.
Me: And I have this pain in my hip joint. It hurts all the time. Maybe I need surgery.
(I don’t really think that I need surgery. Surgery is my euphemism for “I need two weeks at a spa”. As a mom, she knows that.)
Dr. Mom: You probably have arthritis. Your dad has it. You should take ibuprofen.
I was stunned. Arthritis?? What am I, like 127? And ibuprofen? If I wanted OTC meds, I would have gone to see the Dutch doctor. With Dr. Mom’s failure to deliver, I had to go for a second opinion: webMD. The bastard usually tells me that I have cancer and he never gives out any good meds. Those are two big strikes. But I couldn’t let the arthritis diagnosis stand. I bellied up the keyboard and opened up the Symptom Checker.
FOR: me (I like it when they start with the easy questions)
SEX: female
AGE: 25-34.
Wait. WTF. I’m 35. I scrolled back up and reopened the drop down menu. Next option: 35-44. 44!?! Thanks for making me feel old jackass. This is the worst doctor’s visit EVER.
If I hadn’t had an incurable old person disease hanging over my head I would have abandoned ship at this point. As it was, the wine bottle was looking better and better. I poured myself another glass (in case you are counting, that brought the total up to 3: one for each triplet) and went back to the symptom checker. Pelvic area, hips, chronic pain in one side, made worse by sobriety. End result….(drum roll please)…not cancer. Arthritis.
Thankfully Dr. Internet saved me from falling into a deep, alcohol-fueled depression. There was an upside. The recommended treatment: no running, jogging, jumping, high impact aerobics or any activity where both feet are off the ground at the same time.
So today I talked to my husband. Me: “I have arthritis in my hip.” Him: “You have arthritis in your head.” Jackass. Well the last laugh is mine. I printed out my “doctor’s note” and its all ready for the next time he brings up the gym. Now I’m off to drink until I forget that I’m old.
PLAY-DOH IS THE DEVIL
THE MILESTONES THAT REALLY MATTER