It’s not like I’m out of material.
I just haven’t put a whole lot out here in a while because I’ve been occupied with items of a higher priority for the last few years.
The result is that I’ve changed my priorities and behaviors for the better.
Sure that sounds like a positive, but getting there was pretty tough.
For now I’m back here in the Blogatorium, trying to re-prime the pump on the content generator. Mag-B the SLab sits at my left leaving a puddle of drool on the floor as she tries to convince me that she’s more deserving than I am of the lovingly slathered Everything Bagel that sits here on the desk.
There was a time when the TharpSter TreadMill would have been calling dibs on the aforementioned slathered delight.
Those days are gone now, and Faith is off in some meadow with a spate of other dogs which have graced my life.
At the same time, I’m sure she’s avoiding thunderstorms, chasing squirrels, and demolishing window screens, bedding plants, and garden hoses.
Did I mention making some changes?
Of course I did.
After 20-sumthin’ years of avoiding and generally ignoring my primary care physician (PCP), I’m moving on.
Granted, we’ve had some good times.
There was that time about ten years ago when I developed a sebaceous cyst on my chest right where an errantly thrown guitar pick hit it several years before. When that thing became too painful and took on the shape and size of a very small third moob on my sternum, my PCP was quick to jump into action to refer me to another guy (a surgeon I’m guessing) to take that thing out.
Boy did that hurt.
In the spring of 2017 when I developed a sinus infection that could no longer be treated with homegrown sniffin’, snortin’, and sneezin’, I finally broke down and visited the PCP for alternative treatments which didn’t include so much alliteration.
For the record, that ended with a colonoscopy.
Last year, I got the bright idea that I was getting to an age where I probably needed to see the doctor on a more regular basis. On a whim, I scheduled an appointment to go see the guy.
Since it had been five years since my last colonoscopy, he was quick to refer me for a follow up procedure.
The problem with that particular visit was that the doctor’s office was still trafficking in COVID hysteria. Things were uttered in that appointment that should have led me to make the decision to scram back then. At the time, a lot of people were still freaked out, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Within a week of that particular visit, I embarked on a journey that would keep me busy for the next year. At that time, my mother was starting to show significant signs of cognitive decline. She was in Colorado, and I was here in Texas.
So one day, I got on a plane and flew up there, and drove her back to Texas in her low mileage, 2011 Subaru Outback. She lived with me for about a month before being hospitalized. We subsequently moved her into a nursing home where she stayed until she passed away this last July.
As I mentioned before, I’ve had other priorities on my list which far surpassed my efforts to liven up an otherwise dull internet with my verbal brilliance.
Rest assured, the events of that year have been written down and will eventually be made available for all to see.
This last fall, in continuation of the premise that I needed to see the doctor more often, I scheduled an appointment for a check-up. After all, I had just lost my Mom to dementia, and there were hereditary signals elsewhere which told me I should develop a relationship with a cardiologist in the near future.
The jury is still out on whether we’ll provide the cardiologist with a platter of baked goods every Christmas. Sure the neighbors, our mechanic, the food desk at work, and a few others get them, but we’re talking about a guy who’s going to tell me to lay off the sweets. That’s like giving a box of buckshot to a gun control advocate.
It should be noted that the pandemic is over.
By extension, anytime I encounter someone out in public wearing a mask, my knee jerk reaction is always the same. It runs through my mind in italicized English, free of Latin additives.
There’s someone who’s still freaked out.
I arrived at my appointment at the scheduled time, and waited patiently to be called back. Once I was called, I was escorted to an exam room. On the way, I noticed the masked doctor in the administrative area reviewing a chart or something.
There’s someone who’s still freaked out.
A few minutes later, he opens the door to the exam room and proceeds to berate me from behind his properly fitted M95 mask at the open door about ignoring the two page, low cholesterol diet he sent me last year with my lab results. He proceeded to tell me I should probably be on cholesterol medicine.
That’s 1.
You come in here guns a-blazin’, making assumptions without even saying “Hi” or “Good morning”?
The appointment proceeded, and I let him know why I was there. I had questions about dementia, and I had questions about calcium scoring.
That’s ‘clogged arteries’ for the uninitiated.
Answers were given.
And then he pontificated.
This wasn’t the first time he had pontificated at me.
He started talking about how the pandemic was totally mismanaged. He went on to discuss how if the ailment was something more serious like Ebola, we would have been screwed.
Are you suggesting that COVID wasn’t very serious? Then why are you still treating it as if it was?
He looked at me for a reaction.
“Cool.” I responded.
“That’s a strange response.”
“Yeah well. Most of the pandemic was driven by a narrative anyway.”
The doctor continued his pontification and began trafficking in the narrative.
“First you have the people running this thing suggesting you can stop COVID by drinking Clorox”.
Wait. What? You don’t believe that hoax do you?
Things started to get deeper. “And then they started using a drug that I give to the horses out at the ranch.”
“You’re talking about Ivermectin?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t that stuff win a Nobel Prize for use in humans?” I didn’t suggest it had won the prize for uses against COVID; only that it had both human and veterinary applications. He just looked at me from behind his properly fitted M95. I couldn’t tell whether I had just hit him with new information, or if he realized I had just cast a ray of disinfectant sunshine on his attempted lie. Irregardlessly, the cognitive dissonance was visible in his eyes. He didn’t appear to know how to answer my question, and chose not to.
Instead he continued. “In fact there are several doctors who are losing their licenses based on ….”
“Is that The Great Barrington Declaration?” I interrupted. I have a life-long, bad habit of doing that. In this case, I was also getting my detractors to the COVID-hysteria mixed up.
“Huh, what’s that?”
“Never mind, I think I have something else in mind. Please continue.”
“So you as a patient are susceptible to the way I as a doctor present information to you. These doctors have provided bad information to their patients about COVID.” Yeah I think I had heard something about a medical board somewhere moving to strip licenses for doctors who didn’t stay on point with the published narrative.
Oh rest assured I’ve just gotten enough information from you in the last five minutes which make me question whether your critical thinking skills are sufficient enough for me to trust your judgement.
You’ve given me the impression that the government should have run the pandemic with an iron fist.
You’ve given me the impression that you believe in the media driven hoaxes about Trump, one of which was medical in nature.
You’ve given me the impression that you believe Ivermectin is only good as “Horse Paste”.
You’ve given me the impression that you’re not familiar with The Great Barrington Declaration.
You’ve given me the impression you support those doctors losing their licenses because they didn’t tote the line behind the narrative.
To top it off, that tight fitting mask gives me the impression that you’re still really freaked out by the pandemic.
Within a few weeks of that appointment, I had my labs drawn and then went for calcium scoring.
Several weeks later, I hadn’t heard anything back so I called the office.
“Oh we mailed you the results and a prescription for a cholesterol medicine a few weeks ago. The doctor wants to see you back in a month.”
Surprised, I was not. “Okay, I haven’t received anything in the mail from you. Can you resend the results?”
“Yes we can. For the prescription, we can send that directly to your pharmacy if you like.”
“Don’t bother. I’m going to seek out a second opinion.” If I need to be on medication, fine. It’s not going to be based on the opinion of a doctor whose judgement I question.
A few days later, the original mailing, and the follow-up mailing appeared in my mailbox along with one of those infernal advertisements from Spectrum which was addressed to my deceased Mother.
In essence, the office staff had neglected to mail the results in a timely manner. The neglect would have continued had I not called.
In the end, I sought out a second opinion. I’ve also sought out a new PCP.
Regarding my PCP of 20-sumthin’ years who has succumbed to the narrative and obviously hates Donald Trump, I have two words for him.
“You’re fired.”
