February 11, 2009

I took my friend’s advice this morning and visited my doctor. My friend advised me that if the Bubonic Plague went untreated it could lead to death or something even worse. Early this morning I delegated Mrs. Raballard to arrange an appointment with my family doctor.

Let me tell you little about my family doctor, Dr. Pepper, he is a wonderful backwoods, backwards doctor. He shuns modern technology, my kind of doctor, sort of.

The exam begins the usual way; he always asks the same question, “What’s ailing ya’ll?”
I proudly proclaim that I have the bubonic plague, and I would like to cure it while I still had the time. His eyes brightened, I knew it had been ages since he had seen a good case of the plague. I decided I should not mention my impending kidney failure, due to drinking Phosphopoison prior to my last surgery.

“Ah ha, taint seen no plague round these parts fer ages. I spect we should check it out” do you see why I love my doctor. The nurse came in to check my temperature, apparently she is a mother. Dr. Pepper took a pencil from behind his ear and jotted down a few figures “That’s ok missy, ya’ll don’t need to be exact when you are cyhperin tempyatures” he thanked the nurse as she departed. “Looks as ifn we needs to check your lungs.”

Remember, I said he shuns modern technology? Correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t the stethoscope been around long enough to be declassified modern technology? Dr. Pepper claims he hears an annoying thump, thump whenever he uses one of those new fangled contraptions. He prefers to place his ear next to your chest; it is by far more accurate.

He placed his ear to my chest and thumped my back as if it were a melon. Satisfied with his diagnoses he stood up and wiped his hands on my shirtsleeves. “Taint got no Boobinic Plague, what you gots is what we call in the medical perfession as a common cold. To bad, ya’ll know thar taint no cure for that?”

As a precaution, I was given a prescription for some kind of “cilion” I can’t pronounce, nor spell, patted on the head, handed my lollipop, and told to pay on my way out. “Ya’ll come back ifn ya’ll get one of them life treatenin’ diseases, I’ve been a hankerin’ ta have a whack at one of em”

As I left his office I turned and informed him how mistaken he was, and how he would regret his decision. He of course looked at me as if I was crazy. In disgust, I lifted my no longer plague infested hand to show him the green lollipop he knows I prefer orange.

There you have it, my doctor’s visit. I am on the road to recovery; it is just a common cold. I’ll get over it.

I now have to face Mrs. Raballard and admit she was right. She always is.