I went to the doctor this evening. It did not go well.

Dear Doctor,

Were you just pretending you didn’t notice that I started crying when you told me you couldn’t do anything for me? How about a little sympathy? I spent $20 and an hour and a half of my life to hear you say that you couldn’t help me. And also, I felt really crummy. You could have handed me a kleenex, is what I am saying.

For the record, it was not especially helpful to hear you drone on and on about how OTC medications will prolong my suffering but make me feel better, so that choice was up to me. And how vitamin C and echinacea might or might not help. Depending on which studies you believe. Have you been reading Ecclesiastes? Is everything actually meaningless? It’s kind of a downer when I already feel bad and you’ve already told me you can’t really help me. Even if everything is meaningless, could you pretend for five minutes that it’s not? Lie, if necessary, okay?

These are just the ramblings of a curious mind. A mind addled by pain but fairly certain that your bedside manner left a lot to be desired.

All the crying has kind of got me congested again, could you do something about that?

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