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"I'm In The Wrong Profession"
posted March 16, 2007 @9:24p
I don't like doctor's offices. Never have.

Before today, I always gave one reason for not liking doctor's offices, and it was because of my childhood experiences at my family doctor: no matter what brought me to the physician, I always ended up having to take off my pants.

"Doctor, my right elbow is killing me."

"Okay, drop your trousers."

In 2003, an orthopedic surgeon, I'll call Dr. Amazing, removed some torn cartilage from my left knee.

...I was very pleased with the result, but that's not what awarded him his nickname. You'll find out why he's amazing later...

So I was prescribed therapy, and ended up being assigned to a particular therapist, I'll call him Mr. Pain. Week after week, I suspected that Mr. Pain was intentionally hurting me. Strange exercises, strong shock therapy - everything pointed to his wanting me to suffer. I shared my suspicion with others, and they all thought I was being silly.

Well I had a follow-up doctor's appointment today for my most recent knee surgery on my right knee, again performed by Dr. Amazing. I also had therapy scheduled, and had to leave straight from therapy to see Dr. Amazing. They're in the same building, so I wasn't too worried about missing the appointment.

When I arrived at the therapy office for my appointment, I was assigned to a particular therapist again.

Mr. Pain.

I was given a good table in the therapy room. Perpendicular to the window, it was facing the television. Two pillows were placed behind me, and my head rested gently on the window. It was quite comfortable.

Mr. Pain came to my table, proceeded to place electrodes on my thigh, then covered my leg with heat. He quickly turned up the power of the shock until he saw my leg jump. I then let him know I needed a bit less power, and he obliged.

The thing about the shock therapy/heat combination is that the power of the shock seems to strengthen as the leg warms up. So about 11 minutes into my 15-minute shock session, it was too much for me to tolerate. Fortunately, the machine was within arm's reach; I located the shock-power indicator on the machine, and pressed the down arrow one time.

Mr. Pain doesn't like it when someone messes with his machine, so I had to be sneaky. He didn't see me.

Two minutes later, with two minutes left in my shock session, Mr. Pain came by my table to check on me, just as the shock strength was again rising beyond the point of toleration. He asked, "how you doing over here?"

"Pretty good, but the shock's getting to be too much," I began. Realizing that informing someone who wanted to see me suffer that I was in pain was probably a bad idea, I quickly added, "I can handle it though. It's fine with me."

"Too much, huh?" he asked. "Well okay."

I now have solid evidence that he wants to hurt me. Mr. Pain reached over to the shock machine, got that look of glee in his eye... then pressed the up button.

The UP button.

The pain was so horrible that my entire body convulsed. My leg went up into the air. My upper body was thrown forward. My right arm flew out from my torso. Then my upper body was thrown back into the previous leaning-on-the-window position, and my head was nearly cracked open like a watermelon when it crashed back into the window.

The sound of my head pounding the window echoed through the entire treatment area.

Mr. Pain turned it back down quickly, but I looked him straight in the eye and said, "man you did that on purpose. I know you did."

He denied the accusation and removed the electrodes. Then he told me to start stretching and walked away.

As I regained my composure, I tried to focus on something else to take my mind off my possible concussion. I replaced thoughts of "this hurts" with "I have to see Dr. Amazing later" and "I hope I'm not late for my next appointment." That wasn't working, so I began focusing on the television in front of my table. They had chosen the channel broadcasting the NCAA tournament: UT vs Long Beach State. I don't watch sports on television much, but I do enjoy basketball. The station was about to pause for commercial, and the camera panned to Bruce Pearl, the coach.

There, on the television, in Ohio, seated directly behind Coach Pearl, was Dr. Amazing.

"Hmmm," I thought. "my doctor can be at the game and still be making money from appointments. Amazing."

I saw Mr. Pain step behind the counter to speak with someone, so I seized the opportunity to escape. It was an awesome feeling, too, like when I used to cut class in high school.

I don't think I need any more therapy.


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