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Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Send in the Clowns, There's Enough to Go Around

I've never been a big Obama fan, in fact there was a time (approximately 48 hours ago) when I actually believed I couldn't care less about him, but now I sit here finding that I actually can care less about him. That being stated, I really do like my doctor. I like him so much that I worked for him for 9 years. Working in a small office with someone is kind of like being married to them except you don't have to fix dinner for them or ask them to pick up their dirty underwear, because really, what doctor would leave his dirty underwear lying around the office... I just couldn't work for a guy who did that. I left the doctor's office because I just couldn't take the stress of having the government breathe down my neck and threatening to put my children into slavery if I miscoded a medicare claim or omitted something from a chart, or mistakenly spoke something in the office that was loud enough for a random person sitting 5 feet in the waiting room to hear.The consistency with which the government made up new obscure rules in various shades of gray so they could be interpreted to their benefit when questioned, was just staggering. Life is too short to live like that so I quit on great terms and with no hard feeling. I'm pretty sure the doctor would have liked to quit too but then he wouldn't be able to afford underwear that he could leave just lying around (I don't know for a fact that he actually does that, but I'm just saying there is a slim possibility that he does). So anyway, underwear
aside, I go in this week for my blood pressure/head problem check up. He's carrying this cute little computer around with him and sets it down on the counter. He tells me it's the new software mandated by the health care regulations passed by Obama. I'm guessing it's a kind of interactive thing that prompts doctors on things the computer (government)thinks a doctor should do with a particular patient if certain boxes are checked or, blah, blah, blah (in government speak). He's just about ready to send me on my way when a little box pops up on the screen and he explains to me in a non-threatening kind of way, that the computer is telling him that he should counsel me on my MBI (mass body index) and that he should (I can't remember the actual wording he used) but it wanted him to come up
with a treatment plan for my fatness (my words, not his). Then he just kind of blew the computer off, handed me my prescriptions, patted me on the back and said he would see me in a few months. He in no way tried to make me feel bad and probably thought he had mentioned the whole MBI in such an off handed way that I wouldn't ever notice it, and really I didn't until I got back to work and started thinking about the whole conversation and realized how he
had tried to cover up the subject because he thinks the government is as ridiculous as it really is, but the whole reason the subject came up was because the computer was upset that my MBI was higher than it should be which means I'm fat and the government wants to take away the peanut M&M's I have sitting on my desk that happened to be my breakfast this morning. Then it happens, the whole self loathing thing where I'm mad at everybody, embarrassed and was really really wishing I could run away from home and just spend 24 hours by myself and not have to talk to anyone or look at anyone. I went home from work fixed dinner for my family, strapped on my walking shoes, saddled up the horse and went for a 7 mile walk in the dark of night with the wind howling from the north. When I got home, my MBI was that same as when I left the house, my legs felt like they were going to fall off and my dog was really pissed.
That was on Monday. The week is half over and I'm just now pulling myself out of a pit because of a pop up on my doctor's computer screen. You know what? Obama can kiss my MBI! I'll eat M&M's when I want to, drink Dr. Pepper 10 even though it's made for men and may, out of sheer rebellion, leave my underwear laying around the office house. Go ahead Big Brother, send in the clowns if you want a piece of me because apparently there is enough to go around.

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