My doctor is very old fashioned. A rotund, disheveled man, he enjoys sitting for long periods of time staring into space before he answers any question. While most doctors hardly stop long enough to give you the time of day, this man is actually hard to get rid of. He'll sit and talk (slowly) and stare for an hour if you let him. I think this is a result of the few number of patients he has.
His exam rooms are filled with old equipment, some pieces from the 50's, others, like the table, probably 100 years old. His "clinic" is wedged into a cramped office on the third floor of an old, half-deserted building. It's really depressing to go there, and you get the feeling that the time delay between scientific discovery in medicine and application at this office is at least 50 years. I would not be surprised in the least if he suggested that I be bled by leaches to help with a fever, or perhaps that a hole be drilled in my head to allow evil spirits to escape. Got a burn? Put some butter on it! This is what our health care system has come to.
He came over our house last night, unannounced. He stated that the house was too hot and if we wanted him to stay for a while we'd better get the air on. He then went into the bathroom and came out in his pajamas. Big, fluffy pajamas. He sat on the floor and asked me to help him add up his income for the day. I think it was seven patients. He made $113.57 after expenses. He scratched his head and stumbled out of the house, fell on the lawn and started snoring like a bear.
Ok, that last paragraph didn't really happen. I dreamed it last night. No more wine right before bed.
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