Resident

I had an endocrinologist appointment yesterday.  I generally can't stand doctors, which is why I frequently mentally pen a blog post while in a doctor's office in order to distract myself from the unpleasant task at hand.  So here is my latest post in a saga of doctor's posts.  Maybe I'll one day publish a book called What Patients Are Really Thinking in a Doctor's Office.  It will be required reading for all med students.

Ha.  Who am I kidding?  No one else thinks like I do.  For example, yesterday I was unreasonably annoyed with my endocrinologist's resident.

It's not like he was a mean guy, really.  He was probably perfectly pleasant.  I just know that I've recently seen a barrage of facebook statuses from all of my med school friends who got placed at hospitals for their own residencies, so I estimated this dude to be about my age.  I don't trust anyone my age to work on me.  I feel like older = smarter.  Even when I had a physical therapy problem a few weeks ago, I didn't believe Rex (my PHYSICAL THERAPIST husband) about what was wrong.  Because, you know, he's 26 years old, and how much can any 26-year-old really know about anything?  (A lot, apparently - Rex was totally right about the aforementioned PT issue).

So Mr. Cool-Dude-Resident introduced himself to me, and I was pleasant but secretly thinking, "I don't like you."  I wanted to say, "I've got your number, Mr. Cool-Dude-Resident. You were the smart kid in high school.  Maybe you went to KAMSC.  You look like a ton of my classmates from there - you would have fit in just fine.  Can you solve a Rubik's cube, Mr. Cool-Dude-Resident?  I bet you can.  I bet you can solve it in under five minutes.  The kids in the Rubik's cube club at my school could solve them in under one.  Did you have fun in college, Mr. CDR?  I hope you're cool with me abbreviating your name like that.  I feel like I know you.  Anyway, I bet you studied your butt off to get into a good med school.  I know all about med schools, CDR (I'm dropping the 'Mr.' too...too formal).  I hung around a med school for three solid years watching my husband sell his soul to his professors and the dreaded board exams.  I know that you stayed up late dropping pizza grease on your textbooks and that you probably didn't shower for all of finals week.  I bet you joined your class's intramural ultimate frisbee team or something else to make you feel momentarily athletic, but you guys only played on Saturdays from 2:00-2:30 because then you had to go back to studying.  But in spite of all of your studying, you have no idea what you're doing because 90% of that stuff will never come in handy in your actual specialty.  You'll learn most of what you need to know in your actual on-the-job training.  I've gotchu, CDR.  I know what's up.  I'm your guinea pig.  This chair I'm in is a veritable petri dish.  You look good in your freshly ironed white coat and your brand new shiny stethoscope, but you don't know what you're doing.  You're probably just as scared as I was during student teaching.  So I like you, CDR.  I feel connected, but I don't feel like you can fix me."

Luckily, CDR pulled up a chair and sat in a corner while the real endocrinologist talked to me.  He (the endocrinologist) asked a slew of health questions, including standard female questions about my reproductive system and such.

Excuse me, Dr. Endocrinologist.  I don't feel comfortable discussing my lady parts with CDR over here who probably graduated the same year I did.  What if he knows some of my friends from high school?  What if my name comes up and they start discussing the regularity of my periods?

Okay...probably not going to happen.  BUT STILL.

I answered the questions while looking at Dr. Endocrineologist and tried to ignore CDR.  I noticed every once in a while he would nod enthusiastically, like, "Oh yes, I totally understand what you're saying about period regularity."

No you don't, CDR.  You don't have a drop of estrogen in your overly educated body.  Please stop nodding like a med school mascot bobblehead doll.

When Dr. Endocrinologist finished talking to me, he started typing some notes into his laptop.  CDR went and stood over his shoulder, reading what he was writing and nodding at appropriate intervals.  Note to self:  I should start nodding more often.  It gives the illusion of being intelligent.  It was kind of awkward for me to just sit there with only the sound of clicking keyboard keys to break the silence.  I mostly wrote this blog in my head while I was waiting.  Other note to self:  If you nod too often, then you just look ridiculous.

I wanted to say something like, "Are you even writing on my chart?  You're over there Googling cheat codes for the newest video game, aren't you?  Are you playing Angry Birds or something?"  What they actually wrote in my chart, I will never know.  Doctors never share that kind of stuff.  Hopefully it was something about how I'm mostly healthy and everything is going to be great.  Hopefully nothing like, "She shows a concerted aversion toward Mr. Cool-Dude-Resident.  Perhaps this is indicative of a stronger underlying psychological issue."

Nope, no issue.  I just don't like doctors.  Especially ones who could have chronologically been my date to prom.