PDX Happenings

No, I’m not talking about Rocky’s lip from Christmas Vacation. It’s my damn foot. It’s so frickin’ itchy sometimes. I’ve been to the doctor about it twice before, and both times I’ve received either an anti-fungal cream or pills to help rid my body of this annoyingly disgusting problem.

My appt. is at 8:10. I arrive promptly, check in and take a seat and await my name to be called. I began filling out the paperwork that was supposed to be sent to me in the mail, however, I was informed upon check in that they were having some “issues” a couple of weeks back with one of the employees not doing their job properly. Huh, I see. A little TMI (too much information for our “acronym challenged” readers), but I reply with a smile and say “No big deal. I can fill it out now.” The receptionist looks at me like “duh, that’s why I handed it to you, dumbass.” I smile, take the clipboard and sit down.

I’m sitting for merely minutes when my name is called. I haven’t even finished writing my name on the paperwork yet. I’m escorted into the office. I notify the nurse that I haven’t filled out my paperwork. She looks at me as if to say, “I don’t care, sit down.” She asked me 3 questions, rapid fire style. Are you allergic to any medications? Does anyone in your family suffer from psoriasis? Your left foot? I was on a roll, answering, no, no, excuse me? Is it your left foot that we’re looking at today, she asked? Yes, I replied laughing. She wasn’t amused. After she was done entering my answers into the computer she told me to get undressed and put the robe on. Huh? But you’re looking at my foot. I’ve never understood that. Why the hell do I need to de-robe if you are looking at my foot. It’s such a waste. I say OK (I wasn’t going to mess with her), and as the nurse is leaving I hear her say to her nurse buddies in an annoyed, condescending tone, “he’s not even done with his paperwork yet.” Dude! I had less than a minute to start the paperwork. It’s front and back for christ’s sake.

So, now the doc is in the room. She took a few skin samples by using a razor blade-like tool to scratch some skin off of my foot. She was going to take a peek under the microscope to see if she saw the enemy fungi. She came back in after a few minutes with another doc. Great, I thought. What’s wrong? Are they gonna chop my foot off due to some pesky fungus (I’ve had this shit for over 3 years - and yes, I wash my damn feet). It’s only one foot, baffling. They couldn’t see anything in the microscope so they came to take another sample. They said they were going to culture it, meaning they were going to put some skin flakes into a jar to see if the fungus would grow. Now that sounds like an awesome job. I want to meet the poor bastard who gets stuck watching a glass tube to see if any fungus is growing in it. I wonder how many years of schooling that took?

Anyway, the doc prescribes more anti-fungal cream. Supposedly it’s more powerful than the previous stuff, we’ll see. I need to rub some acid on my foot I think. That’s the only way I see me getting out of this itchiness, or cutting off my foot, but I’ll wait to see what the acid does before going that far. I take off the robe, get dressed and head for the exit. As I open the door I think is the exit, I see my doctor standing in a room with another patient. Holy shit, I just opened another patient’s door. I couldn’t even get the words sorry out of my mouth, I was speechless due to sheer embarrassment. Dumbass, I thought to myself as I closed the door and mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” To my defense, Hadley slept really poorly last night so Heather and I were up tending to her. She’s sick again. Neither of us got much sleep.

I finally find the way out of that maze, make my next appt. and get the hell out of there. I go back in a month for a checkup. Can’t wait.