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.