Snapple

Mission Not Accomplished

Friday was supposed to be the day my tonsils were liberated from my body.

But alas it is not to be.

My pre-operative experience has been…troubling? Is that the right word?

No,  I think I meant to write “giant clusterfuck.”

If you had read this earlier post, you would know that I had a pre-op consultation last Friday that was about as helpful as a duck fart. The nurse practitioner could not tell me anything about the surgical procedure I was about to undergo and decided the whole-fasting-before-anethesia was not something I needed to know upfront.

This past Monday, I called the doctor’s office first thing to try to schedule an appointment with the doctor.

“But you had a consultation with the nurse practitioner.”

Yup. But I have questions about the actual surgery that she wasn’t able to answer.

“Did you review the paperwork she gave you?”

Didn’t give me any.

“Well let me put you on with the nurse.”

Oh joy.

When she got on the phone, I said straight off that I was really only calling to schedule an appointment with the doctor so I could get the answers to questions she didn’t know.

“Well I don’t know what you mean Speaker. I spent 45 minutes with you answering all your questions and concerns.”

Uh, what now? The appointment lasted 15 minutes. I should know because it was at 4, I was back in my car at 4:15 and had ample time to slam my head repeatedly into the dining room table, which prompted my husband to call the doctor’s office at 4:30 to try to schedule a new consultation. Office hours being until 5, they of course were already closed for the day so my husband ending up talking to the emergency phone service.

But I guess I was getting my lengthy consult and didn’t realize it.

“You know you were so anxious that I guess you weren’t listening to me.”

This is when I began to wonder if I was on some kind of hidden camera show, like at any moment my doctor and Ashton Kutcher would pop out and yell “We got you! Ha! Okay, here’s how the surgery’s going to go…”

But didn’t happen. I explained that I knew exactly what she said, which was why I was trying to get another consultation. I said: I had to ask you about fasting before anesthesia. I had to ask that! You didn’t even tell me that part. 

“Well I was just trying to help the doctor. And I felt I needed to spend the majority of the time getting you to calm down.”

Okay at this point I’m wondering if she was mixing me up another patient? It’s not like I was swatting at imaginary bees, defecating freely from my bowels and howling like a banshee at the appointment. I might have had a confused look on my face, but that’s because I realized I could be getting better information from a Snapple bottle cap.

I felt I needed to get this train, which was currently heading full-speed to Crazy Town, to make a stop at Saneville. I figured I would be showing my face at this office again and didn’t want her to “accidentally” stab me with her stethoscope. I asked her if she could answer my questions, which she did–poorly–and thanked her. She wished me luck and said she would have the doctor call me.

Still waiting.

I call on Tuesday. When I identify myself, the secretary takes on a tone where I know I have been labeled that difficult, deranged, annoying, lunatic patient. I can almost hear her eyeballs rolling around in her head. I request an appointment with the doctor.

“He’s booked.”

Okay. Well my surgery is in three days and I need to talk to him before I have it.

“I know the nurse talked to the doctor and they said you could cancel.”

Well that’s nice of them to decide that for me. However, I want my tonsils out. I’ve already requested the time off from work, got a substitute in place, met with my sub to go over plans.

“…”  — This is to signify dead air.

I just want 10 minutes. I don’t even need to actually see his face. A phone call. A simple phone call that explains the procedure.

“He can’t give you 10 minutes.”

Alright. Can I ask you a question? Do you think I’m being unreasonable for wanting to talk to the doctor who is going to perform my surgery? It is my body, my health, I’m being put under. Is this so unreasonable?

I sense a whiff of understanding.

“I see you have a post-op scheduled for Oct. 26. Do you want me to schedule a consultation with the doctor?”

Yes. Yes!

“What time?”

Anytime. I will clear my schedule for this appointment.

An hour later, I checked my voicemail on the cell phone I never use and there was a message from the nurse practitioner.

“Hi Speaker, I talked at length with the doctor and told him how anxious you were and he said you didn’t have to go through with it. It’s not a necessary surgery to have and you can continue to live with the condition. Let me know.”

There’s about a .003% chance this doctor will be performing the surgery, but boy do I want to meet with him.

He Brings A Lot of People

I have mentioned before how I’m not really up on politics, preferring to get my political news from the inside of Snapple bottle caps:

Real Fact #902: Barbie’s full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.

What the Snapple bottle cap failed to tell me is that someone cares what Donald Trump thinks about the 25 assorted Garbage Pail Kids seeking the GOP nomination for president.

That someone is Matt Lauer.

"Check this out. 'You're fired!'"

The GOP hopefuls have been seeking an audience with Donald.

“When you sit down with these people what do they want?” Matt probes with his finger.  “Do they want your money, do they want your megaphone, do they want your stamp of approval, do they want to be the next Miss Universe, do they want the cell phone number of your hairstylist?”

"Tell me, how natural does my hair look?"

They want his endorsement, Trump explains. And he believes the reason is because “I bring a lot of people.”

To lunch?

To bankruptcy proceedings?

He doesn’t elaborate.

Matt probes deeper.

"I think your hair looks very natural."

Do you want to be the king of the world or something to that effect, Matt asks.

Trump wants to make this country great again, he says. He wants to bring it back to the  time when Bret Michaels sang “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” on Celebrity Apprentice. I have never seen Celebrity Apprentice, but considering Bret Michaels has sung it on every other reality show, I feel safe in saying this is what Donald Trump is talking about.

The interview continues with Matt Lauer asking for Donald Trump’s take on the various candidates, and this is about as meaningful to me as if Matt Lauer interviewed a wadded up piece of paper about the state of affairs.

In fact that would be preferable.

"I bring a lot of paper"

Matt Lauer decides to get real with Donald Trump saying “You are never shy about expressing an opinion so I want you to express a heartfelt opinion right now.”

I wipe a tear running down my face with a wadded up piece of paper in a bad toupee.

“You talk about the country as not being great anymore and it needs to return to its greatness. Of the candidates you see out there, which one is most likely to return this country to greatness.”

I personally would rather hear heartfelt opinions from the following:

A dog.

A plunger.

A wad of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

An actual turd.

The turd says he doesn’t want to say, he can’t say who he will endorse because it would not be fair to the other candidates.

Oh, I’m sorry…that’s how Donald Trump answered. I just got him mixed up with a turd.

Real Fact #903: That happens a lot.