March 27, 2018
Dear Diary:
The day began like any other, which is to say, with me dancing til my body ached. (Not a euphemism.) [Editor's Note: Eyebrow raise as if to say "Really?"]
"Seriously. Not a euphemism,"
[Editor's Note: Eyebrow raised higher combined with a simultaneous pursing of the lips and lowering of the head as if to say "Really???"]
"Okay...okay, it's my annual physical; not to mention my pubic art reveal. I'm kinda nervous."
After a quick check of my pubes, I showered, got dressed, and went downstairs to speak to my Momz before heading out.
"Good morning, Mammaz."
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep well?"
"I did. Not as well as you I reckon."
"What?"
"I got up last night to go to the bathroom and heard...sounds...coming from your room."
"You were probably just dreaming."
(Eyebrow raised.)
"What?"
(Eyebrow raised higher, lips pursed, head lowered.)
"I'm sure I have no idea what you're implying."
(Eyebrow still raised , lips still pursed, head still lowered, arms crossed.)
"That's a new one. Alright...I was very nervous about today, and needed to relax a bit. Can I go now?"
"Enjoy your day."
I got in my car to head to my appointment. Having gone through yet another pre-urine sample fast, I was hungry and determined. I fired up the engine, put my on my driving gloves, and cut on the nav system to help me avoid any traffic. [Ed's Note: You read that right. That mutha said "driving gloves''] Yeah, I said "driving gloves". What of it? There are two reasons people buy driving gloves (three, if you count being as asshole): 1) to protect your hands from a hot / freezing steering wheel, and 2) to protect your steering wheel from the oils on your hands. Gotta protect that leather...and my delicate hands. It's not all cocoa butter and cuticle cream. Coulda been a hand model. [Ed's Note: If not for the excessive...nerves.]
I pulled into the parking garage in plenty of time to make my appointment. Then, it happened: my jam. 80% of the time (90% for black folks), the root cause of someone being late, or not showing up at all, can be traced back to "The Jam". The other 20%? "Nerves". That's just science. After the song had finished, I high-tailed it down the stairs, ran past the bike rack, tore open the doors to the Health Center, and slid to the reception desk. I miscalculated how far reception was from the front door and slid past the Pharmacy. Fortunately, I was able to grab hold of the wall and stop myself before I slid into the glass double doors.
"Mr. McCloud?"
"Present."
"This isn't the 3rd grade."
"Sounds like it's the bitch grade."
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
"We're ready for you."
"Coming."
"How are you today?"
"Been better."
"Hurt yourself on that slide?"
"I think I may have dislodged my nuts."
"We don't treat that here."
"Good to know."
"Put your backpack in the exam room and come back out here so we can get your height and weight."
I removed my wallet, keys, cellphones, shoes, headphones, loose change, and sunglasses case. Anything that may add weight.
"Step up on the scale, please."
I olbiged.
"Uhm."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Obviously something."
"Not my place to say," she said as she led me back into the exam room to finish the preliminaries. "Have a seat."
Again, I obliged. Having many female friends, I knew how to take direction.
"I'm not even supposed to be here today. I work out of VCU, but several people called out. So, here I am," she said with obvious frustration.
She shoved the thermometer in my mouth with a force that made me even more grateful that she wasn't taking my temperature rectally. I began to roll up my sleeve so she could take my blood pressure.
"No need," she said. "Your shirt seems thin enough for me to get a reading."
For the next five minutes, she tries, in vain, to get a blood pressure reading.
"I can't get a reading!" she finally exclaims.
"Perhaps, I'm dead."
"Haha! Don't say that!" I was glad I finally got a smile out of her, but not thrilled that it took talk of my death to do so. "The doctor will be in shortly. Maybe, she'll be able to get it." I was going to offer to roll up my sleeves, but I didn't want to push my luck.
After taking her sweet time, Pat came in to perform my physical.
"How ya doin', buddy?"
"Pretty good."
"Let's run through the checklist...Drink?"
"Nope."
"Smoke?"
"Nevah."
"Drugs?"
"Only when I get that bomb bomb diddy diddy diddy bomb bomb."
"Ok then...Well, these numbers look great. Your cholesterol continues to amaze. Your Vitamin D looks really good. Your A1C is 5.8, which is beautiful."
"Can I get a lollipop?"
"Can you get a lollipop for having improved your A1C? Do you understand how pre-Diabetes works? Your urine numbers also look pretty go-- Wait, I don't see any urine numbers."
"That's, because they didn't take a urine sample last week when they took my blood. I fasted again yesterday. I'm peeing in something before I leave this office today."
"Would you like to pee in a cup for me?"
"I've peed in worse."
"Doesn't surprise me. When you get back, we'll finish your exam."
When I returned to the exam room, it was standing room only.
"They're here for the pubes," Pat said.
"I figured as much. Either that, or I gave the wrong type of sample again."
"You didn't, did you?"
"...Let me check...All good."
"Hop up on the table so I can check your breathing."
When she pressed on my abdominal, I giggled like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
"That brings me to your not-so-great numbers," she said. "Your weight and BMI. Have you been keeping up with your exercises?"
"I've been known to push rhymes like weight...push rhymes like weight."
"I don't think that co--"
"A yeah yeah!"
"Are you finished?"
"Am I allowed to blaze one for the nation?"
"No."
"Then, yes."
"Do you check yourself for testicular cancer? I mean you're down there in the mornin' messing with the boys anyway."
"Oh, you mean when I shower? Yes, when I shower...and that is the only time."
(Brow raised.)
"What?"
(Brow raised higher, pursed lips, lowered head.)
"Would I lie to you? You're my Primary Care Physician...Primary Care."
(Brow still raised , lips still pursed, head still lowered, crossed arms)
"Your mistrust hurts my soul.
(Raised brow, pursed lips, lowered head, crossed arms, deep breath and exhale)
"Alright...I get nervous. The doctors think it's PTSD."
"Penis Tugging Sacrilege Disorder? Anyhoo, it's time to check 'Heavy D and the Boyz'. These nurses have work to do."
I dimmed the lights.
"How did you do that?"
"You don't wanna know."
"...and where's that music coming from?"
"Amazon Music app on my cellphone."
"But your cellphone's in your bag. How did you?"
"Again, you don't wanna know."
"Is that fog?"
"You ask a lot of questions."
"I'm a doctor...Just drop trou and amaze us."
"Not the first time I've heard that...Bazinga!"
As ordered, I dropped trou, and revealed my latest crotch-terpiece.
"Is that a scene from Michael Jackson's 'Billy Jean'?"
"Yep. It came to me while walking through the frozen food section at Target."
"How did you get the tiles to light up like that?" one of the nurses asked.
"I know a guy."
"You know a pube-gineer?"
"I do. I was going to go with 'Smooth Criminal', but my penis tailor was on vacation. So, I decided to stick with this concept."
"Where does one find a penis tailor?"
"Craigslist...and Tufts."
"How would you get him to do that lean?"
"A system of pulleys and counterweights hidden underneath the suit."
"You've really thought this through. Well, we have to get back to our other patients"
"Would you like me to play y'all out?"
"That's be nice."
"Hee...hee...hee..."
