Return To The Butcher’s Den

I am going to be right up front and truthful from the get go. I got really pissed off today, so this post is going to be nothing more than a complete raving bitch fest hiding behind the thin, and excessively transparent, veil of an attempt at creative writing.  I had a follow-up appointment today at the dermatologist I visited a couple of months ago (Real Life Skin Flick).  During my visit I discovered that not only is this sick soul a master of physical torture as was my unfortunate experience during my last visit, but he is also able to deftly employ subtle techniques utilized by practioners of the ancient art of mind-F’ing someone.

I arrived promptly at my appointment time of 9:00, and found only three other people before me. I had a tremendous number of tasks to accomplish at work, and figured I should be in and out fairly quickly with a limited number of patients ahead of me. As the minutes past and 9:00 became 9:15, I began to get a little apprehensive about my belief that I would getting back to work in a short time frame. The only thing that distracted me this first fifteen minutes was this goofy looking guy that was occupying a chair on the opposite side of the room. Imagine Farrah Fawcett’s hair (yes, the famous 1970’s mane), Drew Carrey’s/Buddy Holley’s glasses and Theodore Roosevelt’s bushy, full-figured mustache. The look was topped off by cut-off corduroy shorts and 1993 Air Jordan high top basketball shoes (notice, I did not say 1990’s era-looking shoes. I think these were actually from 1993.)

Once I tired of eyeballing this guy, my eyes wandered around the rest of the room. Up in the corner of the room they had a television playing different videos related to skin health topics, interspersed with messages from the doctor’s office. The first message that caught my attention was the doctor’s weekly schedule, “8:00-4:30 Monday through Thursday, closed Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Lunch 12:00-1:45”. Wow, now that is a pretty sweet set up. Made me wonder how he was able to see all his patients in a timely manner being closed three days and taking nearly a two hour lunch. Oh wait, he doesn’t. It was getting on to be 9:45, and I was really starting to get ticked. Another happy-time message on the screen said “Sometimes we run a little behind as we give each and every patients the extra attention they deserve. Rest assured when it is your turn you will receive this same level of attention.” So they already know they are going to totally mess up your day by being behind, but try and offer a pre-emptive excuse to cover up their inefficiency. “Um yes, my appointment was at 9:00, and it is now 9:45” “That’s fine and all sir, but if you noticed our wonderful television out front, you have already been forewarned about this delay, and therefore are not entitled to complain. Now please return to your hard-backed, uncomfortable chair.” It is probably not news to most that doctor’s offices run behind on their appointments 95% of the time, however what amazes me is the tolerance we show for this blatant disrespect for our time. For some reason, the fact that these individuals have gone to school for 8 years entitles them to overbook their appointment calendars, scheduling three patients every five minutes, and viewing their patients as nothing more than walking copays. This sort of behavior is tolerated at almost no other service provider and/or establishment. Could you imagine if people let this kind of nonsense go on without making a stink? “Yes, we have dinner reservations at 6:00 under Smithson.” “Yes, Mr. Smithson, the chef has tired of making his entrée’s for this hour and probably next hour as well, but we can certainly get you in, and eating, by 8:30.” “OK, that’s fine. We’ll just salivate and swallow for a while, making us feel like we are eating a satisfying meal.” “Can I offer you a complimentary mint while you are waiting.” Or how about the following exchange at a hotel: “Yes, I have a suite reserved.” “Of course you do, however so do 8 other individuals, while we only have six suites. We can let you have that in two days.” “Ok, great, we will just stay under the overpass for a couple of nights.” As the clock slowly inched towards 10:00, I became more and more angry. I again viewed the television in the corner, and noted the next wonderful message: “If you need to cancel your appointment, please do so within 24 hours, or you will be charged for the appointment.” Well, that seems fair, so long as for every ten minutes you are behind, you give the patient a 10% discount on the copay amount, and if you are not seen within an hour, your visit is free. Sort of a doctor’s “Domino’s Pizza Deal” equivalent. But my guess is they don’t do that, nor does any other doctor’s office (if you have are reading this, and your doctor offers this discount, please let me know where this is, as I would love to make a switch).

I was finally taken back into an examination room at 10:15, where I spent another one hour and fifteen minutes seething with fury. The doctor finally strolled into the room casual as anything, and verbally jabbed my overstressed mind by mumbling a barely audible apology that minimized my plight: “Sorry for the wait. We are running a few minutes behind.” Sure, I guess 135 minutes could be classified as a “few”, just as Heidi Fleiss ensured that the intimate needs of a “few” men were met. The final dissection of my already fragile psyche occurred when the doctor uttered, “So, what can we do for you today?” In my head, I exploded with “Hello, I am here for a follow up. I am not a new patient for the love of goodness sake. See that folder in your hand…they call that a medical chart. I hear some doctor’s actually use them to take notes, and refer to them for future visits so you know why the hell someone is in your office on any given day!” Instead, I sat in frozen silence for a moment, blood rushing to my head as the utter disdain for this doctor grew to an almost uncontrollable level, and my head throbbed with pain from the ire I felt for this man. The amazing thing is that during this moment of immense pain, I had an epiphany about the splendid nature of human biology. When we are babies, our most frequent experiences of anxiety or anger arise from a wet diaper or a nutrient engorged breast not being in the immediate vicinity of our desperate mouths, whose primary function at this stage of our infancy is to meet the needs of the tiny growling creature buried deep in our abdomen. Because our anxiety and anger is relatively mild, when compared to what we experience as an adult, it is completely tolerable for our skulls to not yet be fully formed. However, as we grow older, and the levels of our stress and anger become exponentially heightened, it is my belief that the pain you feel in your head during these intense moments is actually your head needing to explode to release said tension, and it is only due to the fact that our skulls have fully fused together that keeps our head from looking like Mount Saint Helens, sending bullets of brain matter through the air plastering the walls of your local doctor’s office. As I realized my head was not going to explode, and I regained my composure, I reminded the doctor why I was there, got my two minutes of “extra attention” that was advertised on the television, and made my way out of the office. As I exited the waiting room, there were a good fifteen to twenty people now waiting, and I fought the urge to say “He is just a few minutes behind.”