What's Up, Doc?

Doctor's offices are a world unto themselves. Or maybe little universes with each specialty doctor making up its own little world. 2011 has been a banner year for the MacShimers and doctors and frankly, I've had enough. What other professional can get away with making you sit in a crowded waiting room for an hour or more for a scheduled appointment? How is it that they manage to book five appointments for the same doctor at the same time? Do many people decide to skip their appointment, ultimately leaving only two competing for the 2:30 time slot? I can't imagine that's a frequent occurrence given the hefty missed appointment fees they're now charging. And who do they think they're fooling when they bring you to the exam room, take your vitals, strip you down, and tell you the doctor will be in a "minute?" In this alternate universe, a minute is equal to at least fifteen.

And then there's the all-to-frequent "non-diagnosis." I suppose this should be relief. I know no news is supposed to be good news, but when you're feeling like crap and the doctor you just waited an hour for can't find anything wrong with you, it's more than a little frustrating. According to my latest scientific research, at least 95% of children's doctor's appointments are a complete waste of time and money. The diagnosis is invariably "a virus," or "allergies." I believe these are code words for "Who the hell knows. Kids get sick. Give him Tylenol and some 'fluids', and get out of my office since I have five other appointments booked in this same time slot." At least my recent adventure with shingles resulted in an actual diagnosis, with prescription meds and even a bit of sympathy. Is that too much to ask?

I would like to propose that doctors come up with a name for those mystery conditions that make you feel like your intestinal track is going to fall out of your backside, or your head is going to explode into a million tiny messy pieces, or with one more step you're going to fall over because your world is spinning and a mad case of puppy love is not the culprit. I suggest the medical community approves the use of the term MAD. We can pretend it stands for Mystery Ailment Diagnosis, but we all know what's really meant. And it's completely accurate because either I'm crazy or I'm really ticked off that you don't know what the hell is wrong with me. Yes indeed, I'm mad.

Finally, I would like to propose that you never leave the doctor's office empty-handed. If you're MAD, you should receive a small official-looking bottle of pills containing tic-tacs or cinnamon hearts or something so you can at least feel as if your visit and your co-pay wasn't a complete loss. And if you grow tired of taking those "meds," you can shout out "I may be MAD as hell, but I'm not going to take these any more!"