The Finger
So, after talking to Greg last night, I decided to see a doctor about my finger. (I consult Greg with all of my medical/ emotional issues for two reasons: one, he's not afraid of putting me in my place, and two, he never sleeps.)
I showed the school nurse, she seemed to know what was wrong, and told me that I needed to go to the clinic. I asked her what they were going to do, and a rough translation of what she said was, "They are going to cut your finger open and stick drugs in it." I nodded and asked her to draw me a map.
The doctor was nice enough. He had me sit down in front of his tray of goodies while he asked a few questions. Then he started swabbing that iron colored liquid all over my finger, and I tried to stay tough while waiting for the worst part to get started. I looked at him with a grimace and a brave smile, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Then he put some greasy stuff all over it and wrapped it up. Only at the end did I realize that he wasn't going to cut my finger.
But, this is what he did do. . .
and it has to stay that way until Friday.
I feel like a big dork. This thing is bigger than the time a couple of years ago, when they bandaged me up because I really DID cut my finger.
I also have to take drugs, which I never do. My body, like most things in life, generally tends to take care of itself. But it's the doctor's orders, and I don't know enough Japanese to argue with him.
(Are you happy now, Greg? I went to the doctor AND I'm taking drugs. I don't even know who I am anymore.)
I showed the school nurse, she seemed to know what was wrong, and told me that I needed to go to the clinic. I asked her what they were going to do, and a rough translation of what she said was, "They are going to cut your finger open and stick drugs in it." I nodded and asked her to draw me a map.
The doctor was nice enough. He had me sit down in front of his tray of goodies while he asked a few questions. Then he started swabbing that iron colored liquid all over my finger, and I tried to stay tough while waiting for the worst part to get started. I looked at him with a grimace and a brave smile, and he looked at me like I was crazy. Then he put some greasy stuff all over it and wrapped it up. Only at the end did I realize that he wasn't going to cut my finger.
But, this is what he did do. . .
and it has to stay that way until Friday.
I feel like a big dork. This thing is bigger than the time a couple of years ago, when they bandaged me up because I really DID cut my finger.
I also have to take drugs, which I never do. My body, like most things in life, generally tends to take care of itself. But it's the doctor's orders, and I don't know enough Japanese to argue with him.
(Are you happy now, Greg? I went to the doctor AND I'm taking drugs. I don't even know who I am anymore.)
posted by melissa at 1:29 AM
1 Comments:
melissa. you know I love you and I have a great deal of compassion for you, so i do hope you will forgive me when i tell you that I laughed out loud when i read this. It then turned hysterical when i saw the photograph. bless you darling. bless you.
Trust the Japanese doctor though to go to crazy lengths.
by the way, I agree completely about the not taking medication thing - I havent taken pain killers or antibiotics in years.
much love. a giggly Prem (who really DOES hope your finger is alright...)
xxxxx
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