Or, rather, an annual meeting of the local dermatological society.
They paid me $30 plus free lunch and breakfast to come sit next to a giant posterboard of a blown-up picture of my scrotal rash, and I was the "UNKNOWN" of like 12 patients they had tucked away in a row of examination rooms, and doctors drifted in and out to look at the board and quiz me about symptoms to see if they could guess what it was.
I was also in a hospital gown, and offered to show them the residual scar, and when they said no (some of them did), I'd be like, "Don't worry, I'm a ph.d. student, I don't mind, it's for education!"
What bothered me is that few seemed even curious. Shouldn't doctors be better than that? But this one beautiful (Iranian) doctor came back a few times to stare at the picture, and when she walked in the 2nd time, I was like, "Isn't this better than an Agatha Christie novel?", and she laughed and was like, "The mystery is driving me crazy!"
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3 comments:
just when I think you could never surprise me again with a post......
And one doctor made an allusion to a "There's Something About Mary" scene, but I forgot a lot of that movie, so he had to spell it out for me if I got my zipper caught in my balls.
Someone also asked me if I shaved them regularly, and another person if I had been to a campsite with ticks.
Also, someone asked if any "bed partner" of mine had gotten it, and I said no, and then I asked if he meant sex partner, and he said maybe, it just meant anyone who's shared my bed, even in a non-sexual way.
Actually, "bed partner" makes a lot of sense in this context.
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