The Doctor’s Book of Home FMLs
Doctors: who needs ’em? Well, it turns out an awful lot of us do. In fact, there’s an entire “system” (at least in this country) dedicated to “health care.” I know, I had no idea either. I only go to the doctor when something either falls off, or starts growing and feels like it shouldn’t.
But in and amongst all the lab coats, test tubes, and sewn-together monsters activated by hunch-backed man-servants, it turns out doctors are terribly useful people. So this week’s FML Friday is dedicated to physicians all over the world who keep the idiots among us from blowing themselves apart… and to those of you who go to the doctor for the kind of preventative maintenance most human beings only provide to their automobiles, I salute you. You are better than I am. And you’re better than all of these people.
Hot-diggity-dog
Today, I spilled boiling water on my legs. A coworker told me that putting mustard on the burn would heal it. I ended up at the emergency room. When people walked by I could hear them say “it smells like hot dogs”. FML
During the First World War, mustard gas was widely used, first by the Germans, and then by Allied forces to rather devastating effect. It basically melts off your face — or rather, the inside of your face. So devastating was the use of the gas that it was outlawed in 1925. What does that have to do with your situation? Very little.
Except that you can almost certainly tell by the smell of mustard that it is what my Italian friends, who think I’m racist, would refer to as “a spicy meat-ah ball-ah.” In other words, its effectiveness as a balm is questionable almost all the time. In any case, you’re dumber than your dumb co-worker. And I don’t feel at all bad for you because of your dumbness. You should have known better, no matter how desperate you were to ease your pain.
Man, I could really go for some Fat Franks right about now. Or, you know, some scalded mustard-thighs.
Navel-gazing
Today, I was about to get in the shower, when I felt an odd itch in my navel. I saw what I thought was bellybutton lint, so I pulled on it, and quickly realized what I had between my fingers was a still-squirming, headless tick. FML
Congratulations! You now have Lyme Disease. Named after etymologist Douglas Lyme — a guy who hated people from Connecticut for no good reason — because he was just a complete douche*, Lyme Disease will cause people around you to question everything you do because you post your problems to a dumb website**.
Honestly, though, remember those doctors I talked about in the pre-amble to this post? You should probably go and see one right now. Because the last thing you want is Douglas Lyme showing up at your front door accusing you of being from Connecticut and asking for bus fare.***
Pain? Try aspirin
Today, before I went into surgery, the patient next to me just finished the same procedure I was going to get. As he woke up in the recovery area 10 feet away, I was getting my final prep before the operation. On my way into the operating room I was comforted by his screams of agonizing pain. FML
Guess what, pal? Surgery blows. It’s almost always painful — you usually get cut open. With scalpels. Which is a medical term for “sharp knife — which is why doctors typically prescribe a whole loot bag worth of powerful numbing agents. So powerful that if you bought them from someone on the street, you’d be under arrest.
And surgeries aren’t a trifling matter either. You’re usually getting it done because a piece of your body needs to be repaired. So yeah, kinda serious, guy. And hurty. Like the dickens.
But maybe, just maybe, the patient who was wailing in pain was a giant pussy. And you’re just being a giant pussy. That seems the most likely explanation.
*Not even close to true
**An absolutely fabrication. You should read about Lyme Disease for real.
***This will not, under any circumstances, actually happen.
Image by Horia Varlan on Flickr. Used under Creative Commons License.
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