Things Somebody Should Have Told Me Beforehand

Did you know you have to wipe off your deoderant before getting a mammogram?

Had I known this beforehand, I could have brought to my appointment one stick from the 67-pack I bought last week at our Pseudo-Costco. (We live about one mile from a discount clubhouse called BJ's. No, no, no, it stands for Berkeley and Jensen. Sheesh! Get your minds out of the gutter!) But no, this is yet another thing Coach learns the hard way. Thank goodness there was a grocery store only one block from where I parked the Pontiac Stateship so I could make an emergency purchase. You see, I won't pay $1 per hour to park in the medical building's parking lot because I think that expense, on top of the insurance premiums and co-pays, falls soundly, trivial as it is, into the category of Insult To Injury. Not only that, it's all the enticement the Universe needs to ensure you sit in the waiting room for 55 minutes before you get your 10 in the exam room with the frazzled Highly Educated Medical Professional whose creativity and compassion have been transplanted by a codebook of protocols composed by some actuary whose case of Tinmanosis* is congenital. I mean really, why do we bother seeing a doctor at all? Some formulary has already decided what drug we can take anyway.

* lacking the cardiac organ

It just worked out to my good fortune this morning that my mingy nature saved me an extra stop at a drugstore on my way back to the office. If I'd blown the rare cash sitting in my wallet on parking at the medical building, I'd have been forced to retun to work au naturel, so to speak. We already have a situation of hygiene disparity in my cubicle row at work. Far be it from me to add to the fumes.

It seems that being cheap is one good way to outfox the Universe. Another good way to beat Murphy at his own game is to plan for a 55 minute wait by bringing an excellent book or your latest knitting project to your medical appointments. Sure as sugar, the minute you are engrossed or entangled you will be called in for your appointment. This technique also works to hurry along the Highly Educated Medical Professional after you're stripped down to your socks, shrouded in an iParty tablecloth, and perched with as little surface-to-surface contact as possible on the edge of the pre-chilled exam table.

But I run the dangerous risk of digressing from the point of this message into a complete wobbly on the American Medical System. So, for those of you who have never had a baseline mammogram, consider yourself warned to either book your appointment for the end of your workday or remember to bring along your sample-size Powder Fresh Secret from your travel toiletries.

Pronouncable Blogger Word Verification Of The Day: gpyma (j'-PEE-mah)