I came away from my last visit with “Doc Wurlitzer” in May somewhat morose. I had hoped to find out what was up with my kidneys and what I could do about it. In my attempt to bring the good doctor up to speed, I rattled on for almost 30 minutes explaining my medical history as I understood it. I can only remember three things that he said on that occasion.
1. “That’s nice.”
2. “Give blood and other bodily fluids.”
3. “See you next month.”
The only other sound that I heard was “Ka-ching!”
I went down to the lab where a vicious little vixen nearly amputated my arm trying to get blood. I was also given rather exacting specific instruction regarding the manner in which I should donate my “other bodily fluid” (henceforth to be known as “OBF”). There was no chattiness, no humor, no faint hint of a rumor of friendliness, and not even a glimmer of a possibility of a smile. I was in the stainless steel medical version of Purgatory (or worse). All this in American Fork, Utah, the most cheerful little town in the northern hemisphere. I decided that the next time I went to visit the Grand Siete, I would get what I wanted.
Last Monday at 11:30 in the Provo office I was to meet with Doc Wurlitzer again, as requested in his third utterance above. When I arrived at the desk, I pulled out my appointment card.
“Is your address still 10345 West 20190 North in Panquitch, Utah?”
“I don’t think so,” I replied.
“Who are you again?”
“Dr. Zaphod Beeblebrox”.
“No, Zaphod Beeblebrox”.
“Hortenfrax Snurflhwbbetnmomrtn?” she queried with a puzzled look.
“No. Trying using the spelling on the card,” I said.
“Oh…! Right…!” She pattered away on her computer for a while. “You aren’t in here. Are you a new patient?”
“No,” I said, “I’m rather an old one. I filled out my paperwork almost three months ago in this very office. I met last month with “Doc Wurlitzer” in the Omericon Fark office.” I hoped that my employing the Utah Valley dialect would facilitate matters.
She immediately went into some sort of confab with her fellow receptionists and for about six and a half minutes I was on tenterhooks while they attempted to find out who and what I was. Finally she came back to the counter.
“I think that would be me.”
“No, Zaphod. Norgleburt is my second cousin nine times removed. Everyone confuses us with each other. Don’t feel bad, it has been going on for decades.”
“OH! I see now. Is your address still 1842 South Felenctrum Way, Sea of Tranquility, Moon?”
“Okay. If you will just take a seat, the nurse will be with you shortly.”
A while later a sweet young thing ushered Trillium and me into an examining room where she took my blood pressure. “120 over 84. Is that about right?”
“Well, day before yesterday it was 90 over 73.”
“You’re an excitable sort when you visit the doctor’s office, huh?”
“Yes he is,” replied Trillium.
Waters Blue - This morning I was prancing through the text of the first volume of my autobiography, in preparation for its printing in a month or so. As I was reviewing...
6 years ago