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Remember the old TV show "Lost in Space" and the subsequent movie remake? I was reminded of that when I went to the doctor recently.
I was never really fond of the show because the conniving, sniveling, bad person in it was named Doctor Smith, and when I was young, the other kids would make fun of me because my name is Smith. I tried to explain to them that, in real life, doctors aren't conniving, sniveling and bad. That's the people who run the HMO's. My doctor's name is Doctor Mama. He has a business card that says, "Every doctor's a mama and so is Doctor Mama." It's like a riddle or something. Regardless, I'm not really fond of my doctor because he's obsessed with my weight, which I assured him would be a lot less if I lived on the moon. (I was still thinking about space, you see.) At the Regional Gathering last year, Jim Sitton talked about the expanding earth. My doctor is always talking about my expanding girth. "If you continue at this rate," the doctor told me, "you will soon be as big as Jupiter." In my head I had visions of that floppy-armed robot saying, ”Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! Danger!" I'm not sure if the warning was because of potential cardiovascular problems or if it was because the doctor was about to give me the exercise speech. I cut him off before he even got a chance, "Doc, I don't have time to lose weight. In order to lose weight, I would have to get up in the morning and exercise. Then on my breaks at work, I would have to go for walks. I'd have to do overtime to make up for all the time I spent socializing, which I would have done on my breaks except for the fact that I was walking. The money from the overtime wouldn't help me, because it would go towards my health club fees. Then when I got home, I'd have to cook my own food because fast food is fattening, plus I'd have to go to the store everyday to buy fresh food and vegetables because they go bad so fast. Whatever time is left would be spent looking for my vitamins! I don't have time!" Doctor Mama was eager to change the subject after that so we began talking about some of the new markings and appendages that have recently appeared on my person. "What's the red bulbous thing on my leg here?" I asked, fearing the worst. He looked at it carefully. "It's a bump," he concluded. I assumed that was the medical term. "What's it from?" I asked. "Age," he said. "You're getting old." "You know," I said, "If we were in China, you'd say that with a little more respect." He stared at me. "What's this thing then?" I asked, pointing at a mark on my shoulder blade. "It's a tattoo." "No it's not, Doc," I argued, "I would have remembered getting a tattoo!" I looked at it in the mirror. The mark was big and said, "Becky." I don't even know anybody by that name. "Let me see," he said, examining it again. "Oh, you're right. That's just a blemish." "All right then," I said, "Can you identify this protuberance? I never had this before." "That's your stomach." "Oh." On the way out of the office, I asked, "Hey uh, Doc, why didn't anyone warn me that my body would get like this I got old?" "Would you have believed it?" he asked. "No." "That's why. Oh and, by the way, according to your blood tests, you're a Martian." "Thanks!" I said smiling. Finally, I had a real problem I could tell people about. I was happy. |
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