I’m in my doctor’s office complaining about my gas.
“Ever since you put me on that heavy metal cleanser,” I say, “I have had terrible shooting gas. When I walk in parking lots, sometimes I find myself shooting out gas like a pipe organ pumps out music.”
My doctor turns from his computer and looks at me.
“I don’t like it,” I say.
My doctor looks pensive.
“Maybe I have a bacteria? Maybe I ate some bad lettuce?”
“No,” my doctor says. “You’re fine. Sometimes, even I have to leave the office and take a quick run around the parking lot to get rid of gas.”
“I’ve started eating fermented sauerkraut,” I say. “I read that if you have that exploding, rumbling kind of gas, that fermented foods will kill off the bad bacteria and make the gut more acidic.”
My doctor sighs a great big sigh.
“I think it’s helping,” I say.
“OK,” my doctor says, “I think I can tell you this.”
He turns toward me on his revolving stool where he’s been sitting while taking notes about me on the computer.
“A woman came in to see me, awhile back. She was about 57 and I had to do a PAP test on her. She was up on the table and just as she put her feet in the stirrups…”
I’m picturing this. The woman is naked and feeling fat and rolly under the flimsy white paper robe that doesn’t close. She’s cringing as she splays her dimpled legs apart and puts her feet into the cold, metal stirrups. My doctor is sitting right in front of her, getting a great shot of the Grand Canyon, lit up under the bright sun of the medical lamp.
Her situation brings back my own memories of gynecological exams and I cringe, too.
My doctor is continuing, ” So, she’s just spread her legs and put her feet in the stirrups…and I’m sitting right there on the stool between those stirrups and she suddenly passes a huge, long gassy blast.”
Oh, my god. Right in the good Doctor’s face!
“And the poor woman turns beet red all over her body and she’s apologizing and apologizing and she’s in terrible agony about the lapse. I think about the situation for a minute and I do the only kind thing. I stand up and pass an enormous blast of gas that I have been saving up for my walk outside.”
Oh, my god. I begin whooping and laughing. This is my doctor!
“Immediately,” my doctor says, “the woman is laughing and she’s not embarrassed, anymore. The spell is broken. My nurse is in the room and she shrieks and says, ‘I’m getting out of here! I don’t want to be the 3rd person who passes gas!”
I’m now forgetting all about my personal gas problems. I’m laughing it all out.
Aside from an unexpectedly merry time, here’s what I take from this visit today:
It’s very important to choose a good doctor.
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