you don't have to put on the red light
I know I was just talking about being a drug whore yesterday, so it's quite a coinicidence that earlier this afternoon, Dr. C called me we had the following exchange:
DR. C Michelle? Hello? Are you coming down to my office tomorrow?
[I'm spending an afternoon once a week with Dr. C at his practice, administering rectal exams and other such delights]
MICHELLE Yes, I'll be there.
DR. C Well, I wanted to ask you...what are you doing tomorrow evening?
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE Eating jellybeans and watching TV.
MICHELLE No plans. Why?
DR. C Well, if you're in the mood for a really good Italian dinner...
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE I don't like where this conversation is going.
DR. C ...and you don't mind spending the evening listening to a lecture about erectile dysfunction...
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE Oh lord.
DR. C ...one of the drug companies is sponsoring a dinner and a talk tomorrow that I was planning to attend. Do you want to come?
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE Thank god.
MICHELLE Sure, that sounds...interesting.
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE Maybe they'll be giving out pens! Woo! Drug pens!
MICHELLE So should I just come with you after work?
DR. C Yes. And on our way there, we can swing by the hospital and pick up John.
[He thinks Joe's name is John. Don't ask me why. But at least those two names begin with the same letter. On an earlier rotation, another attending spent two weeks calling him "David."]
MICHELLE OK, I'll talk to JOE tonight, but I think JOE will be fine with the plans.
DR. C [Who happens to be slightly deaf] Yes, you and John can work things out.
So that's the story of why I'll be attending the limp weiner reception tomorrow night. Maybe they'll serve Italian sausage.
xo Michelle |