Dr. Helpful

I spent an hour with Dr F.  He met me in the lobby, shook my hand, and walked me back to his office. 

The first thing that he asked me was, "Boy, you said my name correctly.  Do you know someone with my last name?"  

"No, but I'm Italian American, and those types of names are easy for me."

He said my current last name and then said, "This must be your married name."

Sure is.

Then he asked me to tell him my story. WHAT? A doctor asks questions, looks me in the eyes, and HEARS me?  What the hell is this?

We went over everything.  He and I didn't agree on some things, but I'm willing to go with him until I see he is wrong, I told him. He had such a hearty laugh when I said that. He said that was all he asked of me. 

We chatted a lot about all this stuff, and sometimes he would just laugh at me. He said, "I know how this is upsetting you. I've seen the tears come to your eyes a few times, but Margaret, you're damn funny, and I appreciate the humor through the pain. Have you ever thought of being a stand-up comedian?"

Ah, if only I had a dollar for each time I've been told that one.

I just laughed off his comment.

Towards the end, he was asking about how much I drink alcohol, smoke, drink pop, etc. When I used the word pop he asked if I was from New York.

I told him I am asked that weekly. 

No, I am not; besides, people in NY say soda. I'm originally a Midwest gal.

May I ask why you think I'm from NY?  What am I putting out there?  

He said it was just a feeling, not a bad thing at all. Then he told me where he was from. Then he shared that his brother lived where I used to live in VA. He said it's beautiful there, and everyone is so friendly, but he couldn't live there because it was so expensive. Yep, that is why I'm here.

Those who don't speak with a southern accent here are from outside the area. Most of the people in Raleigh speak just like me. It's not until you get to the outer suburbs, like where I am currently residing, that you hear the accent.

We went on and on. He even drew on a whiteboard to help illustrate some things going on with me. He told me why we were doing some of the tests we were about to do and what was going to happen going forward.

He asked me to be patient, and we would get his worked out.

I can't really ask for more at this point, right? 

I just had a doctor listen to me, hear me, look at me and not his computer and asked about me. WOW. I haven't had that since I left N.VA and my former doctor.

So we shall see, won't we?

Everyone here asks me if I moved here from NY. Most say it like it's a dirty word. NY is a big state. Do you hate the whole state, like the Catskill area or the Adirondacks, Lake Placid, Rochester?  Or is it only New York City? 

They stare at you when you ask them this. Most think NY is only Manhattan and the burbs; it is so damn weird. It would be like me thinking Texas is just Dallas.  Sometimes I want to ask people if they went to school and had geography classes, but that is frowned upon, so I just stare at them and assume they voted for the diaper-wearing orange pedophile.

How's that for turning the judgmental tables?  

So to those who know me, why do all people here think I'm from NY?

I don't get it. I don't even speak like someone from NY. 

Now, my father was from 'da bronx' after coming to America. 

He was the one who talked funny. Mudder and fadder were his parents.

He was a plumba who worked on turlets.

When Rick met him, he said, you told me you had to go to speech classes; now I get it. I laughed, but that was not why I had to go, I explained. 

Thankfully, my mother spoke great English, no accent, and would never allow us to say words like my father. (although she said sangwich)

It became a joke in our family. And my father's humor went along with us all making fun of him. He was quite successful in his field, so it didn't stop him, but it was funny.

Yesterday was long, but hopefully we'll get somewhere. If we don't all die before that. Rick ate watermelon that we got at the Raleigh Farmers Market. Supposedly grown on this guy's farm. Rick got severe cramps and severe diarrhea, and it's been 3 days of him being ill. We are now calling his "walk" down the hall to rush to the bathroom the Stroke Boys Shuffle. Poor guy can't walk fast, and he then shuffles down the hall as fast as he can, and his mean, mean wife laughs listening to his big feet going as fast as he can.  I recommend getting him a pillow and having him stay in there. He said I may have to. This was on day 1, the worst day.

They say this should be over in a week. We did go to Urgent Care. 

He's gotten better on day 3, but it's not good. He can't eat, and he has gained a few pounds, so I told him to think of this as a really awful diet. I am thankful we have two bathrooms and that I did not eat any watermelon.

It's going to get better, it's going to get better, it's going to get better.

I think I'll say this until it does.