2004-07-14 - 8:53 p.m.
I'm beginning to think that in a former life I was a doctor with a poor bedside manner, and that I'm paying for it in this life. I went to the ear, nose, and throat guy on Friday, who looked in my ear and said gleefully,"Well, that's a disaster!'. He then vacuumed it out, which was wildly painful as well as gross, and sent me off with a script for a new course of antibiotic pills and drops and blood seeping quietly from my ear-hole.
I wonder sometimes if my doctor is part of a club of star-struck docs. My doc treats a lot of people who are here on film-shoots - there are always people with cell-phones and pagers and no canadian citizenship breezing into the waiting room importantly and demanding to be seen - and the ENT guy had most of his office covered in dozens of signed head-shots. I recognised Sharon Stone and some pop singers, but I suspect a lot of them are opera singers who have come to him about their throats. I guess that makes sense, but it was sort of surreal and vaguely threatening to sit there with all those professional smiles full of white white teeth gleaming down at me. My dad suggested that when I go back I give him a signed picture of myself, just to see what he does.
At any rate, it looks like I'll have to go back again anyway - I'm almost through the second course of antibiotics, and my ear is all oozy and blocked up again. Bleh.
