The following article is contributed by a friend of the site, who is an actual doctor. I may comment on this later, but for now, enjoy.

A Note From Your Doctor.

First and foremost, I would like to thank you for trusting me enough to place your healthcare needs in my hands. I want to assure you that your physical wellbeing is of the utmost importance to me. I don’t know any doctor, including myself, that didn’t possess a passion for the human system, whether it be your eyes, skeleton, heart, lungs, teeth etc when we began the difficult journey of education and training.

Now that that is clear, let’s see if we can’t make your visit more pleasurable for the both of us.

This is not your hair salon. Shut the fuck up about waiting 20-30 even 45 minutes for your appointment. What the hell do you think is happening? Do you think I am in a backroom cavorting with the hotties on my staff? Surfing the web? No! I am most likely running late because yet another demanding toad of a patient has decided to occupy YOUR time with needless bullshit. That’s right. When you can’t give a short, precise description of why you have come to see me, you are the reason for the delay. Think about it. Every minute or two of you yapping about your distant cousin or friend that had something similar, but not quite, bothering him two years ago is time you stole from another patient. Point where it hurts. Tell me how long it has been hurting. Answer my questions with no more than 4 words. The appointment after you will appreciate your brevity.

The 20 minutes you spent on the internet researching what you think might be the problem is no substitute for the years of school and actual patient time I have under my belt. That is why I am the doctor. While we are at it. Unless you are my mother, father or can prove that your affliction has paid for my convertible, call me Doctor. I will call you Mr or Mrs or whatever title you have earned. Give me the same.

Show up for your appointment. If you can’t make it, call 2 days ahead of time and let us give your time to another person. Why do we double book or jam a bunch of patients per hour? Because you can’t bother to lift your diseased hand and call us to reschedule. We book heavy because we count on your laziness to clear out a few spots.

When you walk down the hall, take a look at my diploma. If the date is more than one week ago, I have heard your funny (weak ass, unoriginal) joke. Keep it to yourself.

I am not rich. “Rich” doctors don’t see patients. Get it? If I were rich, you would not bother me at all. I may have more than you, but if you can make an appointment to see me, I am not rich. So drop that chip in the garbage before you come in to see me. I am working and worrying everyday just like you. If you think I have some vault filled with cash waiting to give to you and your lawyer, you are as wrong as your internet diagnosis.

Keep in mind that your insurance usually only pays me 50-60% of my fee. And when they do pay it might not be for months after you darkened my doorway. Imagine how you would feel if your boss told you to expect half your paycheck and only when he felt like paying you. It sucks.

A long time ago, you could have paid your bill with a pecan pie or bucket of fried chicken. You threw those days in the garbage when you insisted on insurance and lawsuits. Remember house calls? Of course you don’t. How about free service for the poor? Gone. Choosing your own doctor? Never again pal.

Get over your shyness. I have had my finger up thousands of rectums, looked between a million thighs, examined an infinite number of pasty, flabby bodies. I am neither impressed nor disgusted by your shape. You have to live with it. I only have to see it once or twice a year.

Stop lying. If a stiff breeze makes your gums bleed don’t tell me you floss three times a day. If your liver is hard as a rock, you drink. If your blood pressure reading has 6 digits you are not taking your meds.

Show some courtesy. You may have noticed that my exam rooms are a bit on the small side. How about bathing before coming in? Deodorant? If you ate a steaming pile of shit for lunch, warning me with a cute little smile does not change the fact that your breath stinks like ass. It’s called gum, try it before you blast me with that heat furnace of a mouth.

Finally, follow my directions. It is for your own good. Believe it or not, I want nothing more than for you to have a quick and full recovery from whatever is bothering you.

Pay on your way out.

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