So, who else is ready for Max Payne?
I mean, it looks like they took the videogame concept and then piled on a bunch of stuff that was never even thought of by the original developers, but...come on. It's Mark Wahlberg leaping through doorways like a John Woo film, shooting mobsters with a shotgun. I'd watch it even if they called it "The Big Hit II: Hitting Harder."
I live in a world gone mad, I think. It's the only explanation I have for why I can visit a doctor twice, have blood work, an electro- and echo-cardiagram, and a chest x-ray, for about $50 with insurance, yet every time my dog goes to the vet it seems like I go to the poor house, even with the puppy insurance she has.Yesterday's trip to the vet for Harper yielded a $250 price tag in drugs and analysis alone, and now, since my dog won't eat and has thrown up a few more times, we're being told that the vet may have to put her on an IV drip to rehydrate her (over $100/day), do an x-ray to determine if she's swallowed something that's messing up her system ($200), and then, if there is, a surgery ($Texas).
Few things annoy me as much as finances, and sometimes I have to wonder if we're genuinely getting as much bang for our buck with the current Banfield Wellness Plan as we originally thought. Office visits and spaying was "free," sure, but free office visits just means we feel more inclined to take her in for everything that ever seems the slightest bit wrong, and I don't think I've ever completed a free office visit that didn't come with a price tag for something.
I think what annoys me the most about this current situation is that my vet isn't telling me anything concrete. All the money we dropped on analysis yielded nothing, and the $80 worth of antibiotics and drugs was, and let's just be honest, based on a GUESS. At a certain point I think I'd prefer they just make something up. Man, I am not a dog doctor. I'm not going to know the difference, and at least if you give me an incomprehensible sounding disease I'm going to feel more inclined to hand you my credit card than if you say, "Give your dog this? Or this. Screw it, do both."
Overall I recognize that this is my own annoyance at feeling my wallet lighten this much so early in the month (I mean, c'mon, I have a few more trips to the grocery store before I get paid again, Banfield), and despite what many others have written the place is generally fair to us. Really it just boils down to individual feelings about pets, as well. I'm not the kind of person who actually feels like a dog or a cat is a member of the family, and I never have been. If my girlfriend or my parents were sick, I'd probably just empty out my bank account and go into more debt than I can currently imagine to get them better.
I just won't do that for an animal. I watch Animal Planet, and I see the people who treat their dogs better than their kids, and I find that just as abominable as the folks who starve and beat their dogs. There's a profound difference between your pet and your flesh and blood. I imagine I fall somewhere in between.
GF: *reading an article about a man who rescued a dog from a shark* Lee, would you punch a shark to save Harper?
Lee: Hell no.
GF: What?! But what if she was going to die?!
Lee: For one, I have no idea why we've taken our dog to a shark-infested beach or why she's somehow gotten over her irrational fear of water long enough to poke a fight with a killer fish. For two, I'm not risking my life or limb for that dog. What if that shark turns on me and then I lose a leg? I will forever hate the dog that caused me to live with a stump.
GF: You're selfish and you hate our baby!
Lee: Listen, a shark comes after you, I'll kick it in the eyeball. But the dog? I thought it was ridiculous to buy the dog a Halloween costume. All this goes for bears, too.
GF: I didn't say anything about a bear.
Lee: Yeah, but it's the next logical step. If a bear puts my dog in its mouth, I am going to run away. Actually, if any creature that I'm scared of tries to eat the dog, I'm going to run away.
GF: Hmph! Squirrels?
Lee: Good God, yes, I don't want to mess with the squirrel capable of killing my dog.
That conversation is paraphrased, but it certainly keeps in the spirit of what we talked about. The point is that as much as I enjoy Harper, I'm not going to die for her. I seem to be incapable of loving an animal that much.
This is a pretty good representation of my general emotional disconnect, actually.
Zeebo Out.
Ever since my initial doctor's visit I seem to have run the full gamut of tests possible for a man my age. I've had the usual bloodwork and urinalysis, but also an electro- AND echo-cardiogram, a chest x-ray, and some kind of test where they basically stuck a needle in my neck and took a piece of my thyroid for clinical study. I've seen all these professionals and more over the past week. Is there something wrong with me? Unlikely, but due to my extensive history of family medical trauma, my new doctor has decided to just go nuts.
Speaking of nuts, I'm officially old enough to have my doctor feel all around my groin area to test for hernias. Really? A hernia? Doc, I think if I had a hernia I'd be the first to know about it. I'd be more than happy to give YOU that news.
The doc wasn't exactly Joe Cool about asking me to participate in his little experiment, either. He turned to me as I was hopping off of that little tissue-covered test bed they have in there, and he suddenly says, "Gonna need to test you for hernias. Go ahead and drop 'em."
"Drop what?" I asked, already knowing the horrible, horrible answer.
"Your pants," the doctor said wryly.
"Oh, right," I responded, fiddling with my belt. I managed to get my pants partially off when I saw my boxer briefs come into view. I saw a chance for escape from this torture. "Both of them?" I asked, a small glimmer of hope rising in me.
"Yes, both," my doctor impatiently said, effectively casting my soul into shadows and cancelling Christmas in the process.
So there I stood, my pants hanging somewhere around my knees, as a certified medical professional started fondling all around my man-business. I really wasn't sure what to say. I felt like I should make some light conversation about the local sports team, but I don't watch baseball or anything, and I'm pretty sure if I had just randomly started talking about things that interest ME things would get a little weird.
Me: So what did you think about that last season of Gilmore Girls?
Doc: How dare you bring up that awful last season! It was horrible! That show was ruined the day Amy Sherman-Palladino left! Just for that, you have testicular cancer.
Instead I wisely said nothing.
Then my doctor decided to hit me with a touch of his peculiar medical jargon, utilizing interesting technical phrases that I didn't quite understand while simultaneously touching me in private, uncomfortable areas.
"I'm gonna need you to hunker down for me," doc said, poking me.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, not sure if I heard him correctly.
"Hunker down. You know, uuuurrrggghhh!" the doctor said, making a strained, teeth-gritting face and a grunting noise to indicate whatever it was he wanted me to do.
"This is awkward. I'm not sure I know what you want," I honestly replied.
"Tense up," he finally said, revealing his true intentions.
Hunker down? I don't even know what that means! Is that some new slang phrase that all the kids are using now? Does it even mean what he thinks it means? For all I know, I had a golden opportunity to sue somebody in that moment. It would have been a media circus in that court room as I described to the jury my doctor's peculiarly constipated face and his unique phraseology. "He told me to hunker down, Your Honor," I would say.
"Give this man ten million dollars," the judge would declare.
Just imagine the potential in the future. Oh, what a glorious day it will be when the doctor can start checking my prostate. Wait, did I say "glorious?" I meant "abysmal." I can't even talk about this business to my girlfriend because she has no sympathy for my plight. Apparently I need to just "suck it up" because women get metal prods stuck in their business all the time, and my fear of a finger exploring my colon is downright wussy when compared to all the medical horrors women go through.
Truthfully, I recognize that my fear of foreign objects going in or around my rear end is irrational. While my brother was in hospice care it seemed like he had a catheter in him nearly every other day, so having a doctor check out my Forbidden Zone once a year shouldn't even matter.
It still matters.
I have to say, getting a chest x-ray around here is insane. I had to wait an hour just to register to have the x-ray done. I was fortunate enough to not have to deal with a big line of people in the radiology area, but I was told that usually it's not unusual to wait ANOTHER hour. Going to the hospital for a simple test is like riding the newest roller coaster at your local theme park. You'll wait in annoyance for hours for something that's over in five minutes, and you'll leave the experience wondering what else you could have done with all that lost time.
Echo-Cardiograms, however, are totally worth it. They're actually kind of fun, in a goopy, alien-just-shot-out-of-your-chest kind of way. You get to monitor this screen and see a visual of your heart in action. You breathe in deep or shift around, you see the physical effects of your heart moving and pumping on a black and white horror-film screen. And when they turn the sound on, your heart-beat sounds exaggerated. The whole time the technician was playing around with that machinery, I kept expecting Sigourney Weaver to blow a door open and spurt fire everywhere while screaming at the top of her lungs.
Medicine is crazy, you guys. Just crazy.
Zeebo Out.
Stuff My Girlfriend Says
5 comments Published by Lee Starnes on Thursday, September 18, 2008 at 1:08 PM
First order of business: An announcement! My dog is officially puppy graduated. Look at her, there, with that tiny hat. She is a paragon of good behavior and discipline. I present to you a list of commands that her puppy degree indicates she has mastered -
Sit
Down
Stay
Here
Recognition of the name "Harper"
But that's not all! Here's a whole bunch of other commands that she fully mastered, without even being prompted in a classroom setting!
Poop on Floor
Lick Butt
Gnaw on Tail
Bark at Nothing
Sneakily vacuum everything into mouth
The awesome thing about those secondary skills is that you don't even have to issue a command for Harper to perform them. She just innately senses that they need to be done, and then she saves you the trouble of opening your mouth by pre-emptively pooping or licking or eating something completely inedible.
My dog is a genius. So genius, in fact, that we made her a diaper to stop her from chewing on a rash a couple of weeks ago, the effect of which you can view here, on my girlfriend's YouTube Channel. I anticipate other Harper antics being uploaded there, because my dog is a nonstop source of entertainment.
We don't necessarily just need Harper for entertainment, however. My Gee Eff and I have a lot of fun together, and occasionally say ridiculous and sometimes insensitive things to each other because it's amusing. Here are a few gems -
Me: I'm moving into a bigger office today.
GF: Yay! Have fun with the move. Perhaps you should get your sexatary to help you.
Me: She is small and dainty - incapble of moving my big heavy things.
GF: Are you talking about your balls again?
GF: I forgot how much of a slut you are.
Me: It's true. I'm a dirty, dirty slut.
*Lee emerges from the bathroom*
GF: What are you doing?
Me: What are you doing?
GF: What is that?
Me: What?
GF: That's your laptop! Mother Effer! I thought you were taking a shower this morning but you were in there taking a monster poop and playing on your computer! While you were taking a poop!
Me: I have no idea what you were talking about.
GF: Oh God! I touch that computer like every day!
Me: You should probably wash.
GF: Just when I thought you couldn't possibly disgust me anymore, you topped yourself. You climbed that effing mountain and put a poop flag on it.
Me: Just wanted to remind you that your birthday gift is going to be awesome, and I'm still not telling you what it is.
GF: Um, you're a whore.
Me: I'm so excited I think I'm going to pee.
GF: What, like right now?
Me: ...
GF: Dude, we're in my car.
Me: Yeah, this just got awkward.
GF: Why? Why do you act like this? Why do you embarrass me?
Me: Look, I'm a dumbass. You knew that going in.
Zeebo Out.
Today I have a doctor's appointment. I was supposed to have gone to see the doctor ages ago, when my brother was still sick, but that was a hard time for me, and I will freely admit that the concept of visiting a medical professional wasn't anything I relished. For one, it was a painful reminder of all the time I had to spend watching Sam in the hospital, and for two, I was deathly afraid that something equally terrible would be wrong with me.
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