I've made it one of my life's goals to stay away from doctors as much as possible. Seemed like my mama would go to the doctor for one thing and come home with five other things wrong with her. No, sir, I'd just as soon stick with the thing I got, thank you. My constitution probably worked real hard to get that one thing, so as long as I'm not bleedin' out or fallin' out, I'll keep the product of my labor and hold the docs at bay.
For the most part, save for the time I slipped up and dated a physician, I've been successful at avoidance. But every now and again, even the stoutest among us have to face the white coats. When we do, they tend to give us something to "relax" us and make us more "cooperative," which means sedate the living beans out of us so they can do whatever they want without our protesting and talking smack.
It so happens that protesting and talking smack are among my specialties, so this sedation thing is the very thing I don't want to occur. I want to be fully myself when they go poking and prodding. Plus, I say enough craziness when not sedated. I am in no need of sedation's help to be incoherent.
That being said, certain procedures necessitate a bit of numbing, so I succumbed to trying nitrous oxide, otherwise known as "laughing gas," when I had oral surgery a few years back. Having discovered I was a lawyer, the dentist began telling me about a case he had coming up. Seeing my concern, he assured me he wasn't being sued, he was the expert witness, and began relating the facts in great detail.
As we bantered, he finally asked, "You're not feeling the effects of this, are you?"
"Is it on?" I asked.
"For 20 minutes now, as high as I can give it," he said.
"How should I feel?" I asked.
"Like you had a couple martinis."
"Then why didn't you just give me a couple martinis?" I said.
Turns out, I fall into the 3% of the populace for whom nitrous oxide has no effect. I proceeded with the gum graft sans sedation, watching the whole thing reflected in the doctor's goggles, much to his dismay.
This week, however, I had a procedure for which the meds worked as intended. Well, almost. While they initially relaxed me, they also had the unfortunate delayed effect of making me talk incessantly.
I was unleashed into the care of Trapper John, who got me home and tried to make me rest. After exhausting every avenue he knew, he resorted to trickery. Knowing I'm competitive, he lured me like a toddler.
"Let's play the quiet game. See if you can beat me, starting now!"
I managed silence for 4 seconds before loudly proclaiming, "I forfeit! Bwhahahahahaha!!"
So, I'm back to my original goal again. I'm told going to the doctor can add years to your life, and I agree. I feel 10 years older already.
NAN Our Town on 08/15/2019