“Why?”
“I like carpet!”
I wonder what a prescription for carpet would look like?
Pssst… Want to Buy Some Medical Products?
A couple of months ago I was in the middle of doing a Pap test when my receptionist knocked on the door.
“Donovan? There’s a Dr. Julep from Ottawa on the line for you.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Julep from Ottawa. She says it’s very important.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” I handed my nurse the cervical brush and hurried out of the room. “Hello?”
“Hi Dr. Gray. Listen, I really liked that story you wrote for the Medical Post about drug seekers in the ER.”
“Uh, thank you. What did you say your name was again?”
“Dr. Mint Julep.”
“Do I know you?”
“No, I don’t believe we’ve ever met. Dr. Gray, in light of the recent tragedy in Walkerton, do you have any concerns about the condition of the drinking water in your town?”
“What?”
“As a respected health care professional in your community, you could be generating a substantial amount of additional income by selling high-quality home water purification systems.”
“ What?”
“You could offer them to the patients in your practice. I guarantee you, they’d sell like hotcakes.”
“Are you serious?”
“We also have an exceptional line of vitamins, tonics and natural products.”
“Let me get this straight – you want me to use my office to peddle the medical equivalent of Amway?”
“Our products are of the highest calibre and - ”
“Goodbye!” Click!
Last week I got a phone call from Montreal. This time I was prepared.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Gray! This is Dr. McQuack. Loved your article on cancer in the Medical Post.”
“Do I know you?”
“Ah, no, but Dr. Gray, is it safe for me to assume you have a genuine interest in the health and well-being of cancer patients?”
“No.”
“Uh… but that article you wrote… .”
“I made it all up.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Um, well, anyway we offer several lines of very exclusive biloba vera colonics as well as specially enhanced carrot juice enemas that have been scientifically proven to put most cancers into permanent remission – ”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t even like cancer patients.”
“But – ”
“Have a nice day!” Click!
Sahara Mouth
I once had a sweet little old lady in my practice who complained bitterly of having dry eyes. None of the regular treatments for dry eyes seemed to have the slightest effect on her. I began to wonder if she might have Sjögren’s syndrome, a condition in which autoimmune destruction of the salivary and lacrimal glands leads to chronic dryness of the mouth and eyes. It’s possible to have either problem in isolation, but usually the two coexist. Every month or two when she came to see me at my office I’d ask, “Do you have a dry mouth?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. No dry mouth, doctor.”
After a couple of years of unsuccessfully battling this mysterious affliction I finally said uncle and referred her to a newly launched dry-eye specialty clinic at a teaching hospital in Toronto. A few weeks later the consultant’s letter arrived. The opening lines read: “This pleasant 80-year-old woman presents complaining of a two-year history of dry eyes and dry mouth. She says she has to suck on hard candy almost continuously in order to relieve the mouth dryness.” What the hell? The consultant went on to conclude: “…a fairly obvious case of Sjögren’s syndrome.” I was gobsmacked. I requested my patient be called in for an appointment pronto.
When she arrived she was grinning from ear to ear. She happily displayed the bottle of Salagen the specialist had prescribed for her.
“This works great! Those doctors in Toronto, they sure know what they’re doing,” she remarked ever so thoughtfully.
I got straight to the point.
“Mrs. Kareishū, how come you always told me your mouth wasn’t dry?”
“Well, my mouth feels moist when I suck on a hard candy, so since I’m just about always sucking on one, it never really gets dry!”
My eyes rolled up with such force I was nearly knocked out.
Beginner’s Luck
Recently Jan and I accompanied a group of friends from our town to a Supertramp concert in a nearby city. When the show ended, someone suggested we check out the local casino. I had never been to a casino before. My mind conjured up Hollywood-inspired images of beautiful people, laughter and glittering roulette wheels. Hey, that sounded like fun! We hopped into our vehicles and headed out to The Slots.
The lot was jam-packed, so it took us a while to find parking spots. When we finally got into the lobby the first thing I noticed was a sign stating any patrons found leaving their children unattended in the parking lot would be banned from the premises for five years. There were also several posters for Gamblers Anonymous and Ontario Addiction Services on the walls. Hmm… .
We decided to go watch the horse races. There were a few hundred spectators at the downs. A huge scoreboard above the racetrack updated the odds continuously. One of our friends had a little gambling experience, so he gave us a crash course on how to bet on horses. Perhaps I misunderstood him, but it sounded to me like I could either bet on the favourite and win a pittance, or bet on one of the long shots and lose my shirt. It seemed like an expensive way to have a good time.
After watching pint-sized jockeys whip their tired steeds around the track for half an hour we lost interest and returned to the main building. By then I was getting pretty hungry, so I asked one of the employees where the restaurant was. He advised me the cafeteria was the only place where food could be purchased. I went in and looked around. They had every species of Cheezies, Pringles and Doritos known to man, but no hot meals or sandwiches. Oh, well. It was time to get the show on the road. We hurried down the main hallway, past a knot of beefy security guards and into the casino.
It was like stepping into The Twilight Zone. Hundreds of slot machines filled the room, and nearly all of them were occupied. The glassy-eyed zombies playing the slots were pushing buttons and pulling levers like well-trained lab rats. Whenever the credit on their machines ran out, most people automatically pulled out a fresh bill and carried on playing. Some of them were using $100 bills. Every other player had a cigarette in hand. Once in a while they’d stop pushing buttons long enough to take a drag. The air was blue with smoke.
I took a stroll around the room. Most people looked as though they didn’t have a lot of disposable income. There were markedly few conversations taking place, and no one was laughing. Everyone seemed to be grimly fixated on their slot machine. I noticed several players wearing necklaces with a credit card-type device attached to them. The cards were inserted into a special groove located on the front of each machine. I asked a waitress what they were for.
“Oh, those are frequent player cards. It works kind of like Air Miles. The card keeps track of how much you play. The more you play, the more points you get. When you accumulate enough points you can trade them in for things like food or free lottery tickets. Would you like me to get you one?”
“No, thank you,” I replied. I backed away from her warily.
There were no seats for non-players in the room. Your options were to play, stand around and get lung cancer, or leave. I decided to play.
I found a vacant one-armed bandit, sat down and fed it $20. My cash was instantly converted into 80 credits. It reminded me of something I once read in a psychology textbook: Converting money into more abstract things like poker chips or “credits” tends to make people less inhibited about spending it. Someone showed me how to work the device. Essentially, all I had to do was press one button to specify the quantity of money I wanted to bet, then either press a second button or pull down the lever to make the icons spin. If a winning combination lined up I’d be awarded credits; otherwise credits would be deducted. I could cash out at any time. It seemed straightforward enough. I started pressing buttons.