Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Dr. Me: Adventures in Home Diagnosis - The New Yorker

Am I sitting down? I have some bad news to break to me. A lot of doctors would have texted, but I wanted to tell me this in person. This case wasn't easy to diagnose, even for someone like me, who graduated from med school (WebMD Online University, '11). But first I'm going to have to ask me some questions. Do I take any medications—other than Splenda, of course? Has anything changed since I saw me during my last visit, this morning? On a scale of one to ten—ten being chapped lips—how much does it hurt when I push here? Three and a third? I see. The medical community is divided on this, but the latest studies posted on WikiSicky.org and AlternativeToAlternativeMedicine.net indicate that I could be suffering from circuitous spleen, an allergy to elevator air, or feline tonsillitis. Or it could be a problem with my pushing finger. I'm afraid it could also be a gateway ailment to—

Oh, wait. About the other thing? I know I was worried, but according to DeanOrnishIsAnIdiot.com it's definitely not early onset (five hundred and forty-seven likes). That card left the deck at least ten years ago. What a relief, right? Average onset is still a possibility, but it doesn't run in the—Oh. Her? Is she really family?

There is also a chance that it's a disease so rare that I am the only one who has ever had it. Hey, hey. Chin up. Worst-case scenario, we get a malady named after me. And, come on, remember the incurable hair cancer? And how I pulled through, even though all the commenters on EwCan'tLookAtThat.net, PerniciousHangnail.org, HelloHospice.co.uk, and BiblicalHealth.gov said, Two days to live, max. Life goes on, or at least it did then.

I need me to take a deep breath. Oooh. How long have I had that stabbing pain? Have I ever smoked? No? What about the puff I took behind the 7-Eleven to make Eric Ifker like me?

On a personal note—and please understand that everything I tell me is completely confidential—may I ask, How many sexual partners have I had, other than myself? Great. That rules out some icky outcomes.

Unfortunately—how to put this? Before I begin, maybe I should prescribe two extra-strength doses of Long Island Iced Tea. It may also be a good idea to review my chart again. I see that I became a patient of mine when my previous physician, Dr. Mort Rappaport, failed to—not to malign a colleague, but he insisted that it was unlikely I had Dutch elm disease. It says here that I then went to myself for a second opinion since there was no co-pay. (Thank you, United Patty Care Health Group.)

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