Meli and I have both been more or less knocked out since Monday by an intrepid virus that has beset us both. We decided that when we have kids we're going to try to avoid getting sick at the same time.
Since I'm a sickly asthmatic, the virus made its way into my lungs, as viruses are wont to do, and set about constricting my breathing in a most distressing way. So I went to the doctor today. Without really thinking it through, I decided to go to the Stanford Health Clinic, since it takes my PPO. It didn't occur to me that, now that I'm a grown-up and everything, maybe I shouldn't go to a college clinic anymore, but I figured it was legit since it was attached to the Stanford Hospital, and all I really needed was some asthma medication anyway.
The clinic wasn't all that bad. But the fact that it's attached to a teaching hospital meant that a medical student got to practice practicing on me before I got to see an actual doctor. I don't remember her name, but it was probably Michelle. It wasn't until this evening that I realized that Michelle is probably younger than I am. And that's kind of weird.
Anyway, Michelle has a bright future ahead of her as a big important doctor (she's at Stanford Freakin' Medical School, for God's sake), but for now she's a little green when it comes to exam room goings-on. She did a fine job, but there were a couple of things that stuck out. She asked me if I had sinus congestion, and then like a minute later asked if I had a stuffy nose, and couldn't give a satisfactory answer when I asked her what the difference was. Even more entertainingly, she seemed really shy about asking me to take my shirt off. Now, I was there because I was having trouble breathing, and she knew this, so she should have assumed that I came in expecting to show some skin. But as soon as she finished quietly stammering "Would... would you mind taking off your shirt?" she immediately followed with "Or, or you can just lift it up, that'll work."
Of course, I could be wrong in assuming that she was uncomfortable with the shirt request because she's new. Maybe she was just worried about what I might look like under there. Or maybe she was afraid of losing control at first sight of my amazing abs. Either way, I can't think of a punchline for this paragraph. My mind gets lazy when I'm sick.
One more thing: As part of the pedagogical, and therefore overly broad, exam, she had me lay down so she could listen to my bowels. My steely, cavernous bowels. That didn't seem to make her uncomfortable, but I fought the urge to crack wise as she listened intently to my digestive business. I was waiting for the hernia test but I guess that would have been too much.