Dr. Bester, part 3

by Phyllis

I mentioned before that inasmuch as my workspace was in downtown Boise, it was sort of nice Dr. Bester's office was down there too, so I could "shoot over for a quick appointment and get back to work." But it never happened that way. Dr. Bester's office, in fact, helped me set personal records for time waiting in a doctor's office.

I know part of going to the doctor is waiting. I have blogged previously about it and how precious a doctor's time is when you finally see him. Dr. Bester, however, took the cake (if ever there were a cake to take). I never once waited for less than an hour to get in that little room with all the brochures. And once I waited a full two hours. No lie.

Let me digress for a minute to ask you an important question: have you ever known a meathead? Think about it. What is a meathead you ask? I think you have a good idea, but you could use as a template some of those mouth-breathers (can I of all people use that term?) you see on weekends offering witty insight and commentary about football games. Yes, like Howie Long. Ok, back to the story.

Once I got in that little room, most of the time a meathead would come to see me instead of Dr. Bester. It was Dr. Bester's physician's assistant. And seriously, the first word that came to my mind when he first burst through the door was meat. And then head. With his baseball glove hands and torso exploding out from his overly tight lab coat, he blabbered and I pretended to listen. I was waiting for Dr. Bester so I could ask some questions. The date for the surgery was fast approaching, I knew, and I had never done anything like this before. But no. "All right!" Meathead burped. "See you in a couple weeks!"

After two or three appointments like this, I mentioned to the nurse on my way out that the surgery was in 10 days and I still didn't know what Dr. Bester wanted me to do about the prescription blood thinner I take every day, and had several questions still. I had by then asked them all of Meatface but was not satisfied with the answers.

"I have breathed through my mouth all my life. How will my body know to start breathing through my nose?" I wondered.

"It just will."

"And will this help my snoring?"

"Oh, man!" Beefsteak said. "This will be so awesome. Think about it. No more snoring, no more waking up with your mouth all dry and tasting awful. Waking up refreshed. This is gonna be great!"

I seasoned everything this rump roast told me with a healthy amount of salt.

Dr. Bester, part 2

by Phyllis

Trust me, it is a real drag not to be able to breathe properly through your nose.

I can breathe through my nose, sure, but if I close my mouth and try to focus on breathing ONLY through my nose, I feel claustrophobic and panicky and scared like I'm drowning within about a minute or so. It is NOT cool.

It used to be this was no big deal. You know, back when I didn't know any better, wasn't paying attention to how I was breathing, back when I was a kid. For a while I didn't get it when fellow classmates would tease me for sitting there with my mouth gaping open. I knew even then it wasn't gaping, but it was open, as it was a much more successful vehicle for the intake of my precious oxygen.

But as I got older and learned nearly everyone else breathes through the nose, it started to bother me. Why can't I do this? What's wrong with me? So I finally decided to do something about it when Dr. Bester said he could fix my deviated septum and that this would help me breathe through my nose. I thought the whole idea was pretty awesome.

I started making plans and appointments with Dr. Bester now in preparation for surgery. He sent me off to get some tests done and they showed that my sinuses were all very full, congested, loaded, whatever you want. (That part I believe, by the by, since it possibly provides answers to years of congestion, ear infections, lots of boogers and earwax, and all that glamorous stuff.) So while he was fixing my deviated septum, he would be performing what he called a "roto rooter job" on my sinuses. Great, let's get it all done, I thought.

Dr. Bester, part 1

by Phyllis

I admit I am copying someone a little in writing a post of this sort, but that should be okay with everyone. After all, I wouldn't have made it through junior high, high school, and college without cheating consistently. Others spent their time and effort reading and studying; I spent mine getting better at passing off the work of others as my own. Very rewarding stuff.

Anyway...Dr. Bester, yeah. That isn't his real name, you know, although you could figure out what it is if you know some of my tricks for the names I give people. Maybe you don't know my tricks, and I certainly can't reveal them. But a few seem to me a little transparent. In any case, let's talk about Dr. Bester.

Dr. Bester was (is?) an ear/nose/throat/cosmetic surgery/whatever-procedure-he-wants-to-do doctor. Of course I didn't know that many years ago when I had a slight pain in my ears and looked up an otolaryngologist with an office close to my work space in downtown Boise. I wanted to be able to shoot over for a quick appointment and get back to work.

So, as I said, after several days of what I thought was moderate pain in my ears, I set up the appointment. Dr. Bester came in, asked me a few questions, and then peered in my ears. I could tell he stifled a reaction, and looked at him quizzingly. "You aren't in pain?" he asked. I said it hurt a little. "Because you have quite an infection in there. I am amazed you are so stoic about it." I always knew I was tough.

He wrote a prescription, and wondered if I had any other questions. "Yes. How come I have never been able to breathe out of my nose?" Dr. Bester took a quick look up my nose and at my palate and told me I had a deviated septum. He could fix that.

I thought about that as I left.