Today I returned to Vanderbilt for a check up with my doctor. One of their new research projects is studying how stress and mental status affect disease.
My doctor told me I would need to see the “disease psychologist” and so I went…only cause they made me.
I was nervous as a cat on crack.The thought of someone sitting across from me, asking me personal questions about the state of my mind, was unnerving. I mean, the man had a yellow note pad and pen and scribbled furiously the whole time going, “Ahem…I see…and how does that make you feel?”
Well, I can just tell you. It made me feel paranoid that he was gonna diagnose me with some type of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” modality and they would take me straight to the locked unit in a straight jacket.
See where I’m going with this…I got issues.
Anyhoo, so I’m talking to Dr. McGoo and I’m trying to act all sane and it all just comes out as being wrong. I’m fidgeting…I’m sweating…I’m doing that thing where I bit my lip when I’m really pissed or nervous.
Then he says to me, “You look really bitchy.”
Uh, excuse me Dude…”Did you say I looked really bitchy?”
“Yes” he replied. “You are a really pretty girl but you come across as bitchy…it would be so much better if you smiled.”
“You just called me bitchy and now your asking me to smile…isn’t that like an oxymoron? And do I have to pay a copay for this professional opinion?”
“Is that how you perceive yourself? As bitchy?”
“Why yes, I do….and thank you for asking.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“It makes me feel like you really wasted your time getting that PhD.”
And so it went on like this for an hour while he’s scratching his pen to the note pad like a cat covering shit. Finally says to me, “Do you think we have a good rapport?”
“It’s kinda like most of the first dates I’ve had…you ask me alot of uncomfortable personal questions and then at the end of it, you call me a bitch? At least then I would get a free meal out of it. You haven’t even offered me a drink. I don’t guess you get many repeat patients?”
He replies, “You’re pretty funny…I like you.”
I’m supposed to be flattered by this.
As I’m leaving I text Rico and said “The disease psychologist just called me bitchy.”
His reply text, “I swear I didn’t call him.”
Seriously, I could have gotten a free diagnosis at home and saved $25.
