Don't ask, Do tell
My new fancy doctor on the Upper East Side is currently treating my long-standing, horribly painful, and possibly-cancerous-if-left-untreated medical condition.
The previous doctor I saw for this had tried many extreme and extremely painful cures such as surgery, freezing and powerful anti-cancer drugs -- "Whatever you do," he said, "do not even think about getting pregnant while on this." The toxic drug was in a strength that was so potent it had to be specially ordered. It was all to no avail. After months and many visits I was no better, possibly worse. Before seeing this doc I had been in freelancer land. I didn't have any health insurance and I just had to suffer. The let down that having health insurance did diddly was awful.
As I sat on the paper-lined puffy examination couch or table or whatever it is,
I looked out the window at the Metropolitan Museum and steeled myself for the terrible treatment this new doctor would put in motion. It had taken me a year to get up the guts to give another doctor a shot.
He said, "Well, before we start anything, you should know that there currently is no cure for this that works 100 percent of the time."
Yes, I knew that. I've read everything available on it, on the internet. I tried to imagine what hospital I'd be booked into.
He continued, "Yours is possibly the worst case I've ever seen, so of course surgery will be very painful..."
I think, "Thank goodness I have health insurance, so I can afford this."
Then he says, "But I have had success with..."
I think, "Get out the knife, do your worst, I must be rid of this!"
"...duct tape."
Duct tape. Duct tape? Duct tape and...?
"No," he says, "just duct tape. Slap it on and leave it on for days at a time."
I am being treated with duct tape. The roll was purchased at Rite Aid.
Here's the weird part: it's working.
It's working like a charm.
Thor almighty, it's working!
Here's the best part: my insurance covers my visits to this UES Warlock with an MD.
