06/04/2002 Entry: "So You're Going To Die."

First of all, let me tell you how much I hate doctors who are condescending. Who cluck their tongues, wearing a world-weary "I've heard this one before" expression. Who chuckle, paternally, when you explain what another doctor told you, and patronizingly explain something you essentially just told them. Write me my god-damn prescription so I can get out of here.

With that out of the way, we proceed on to the basic physical. This goes mostly according to plan. However, one hint to my doctor: you can probably use a little less lube next time, if you're just putting a finger up there. I'm gay; I've had worse.

Sorry, was that too much information? Did I mention that my prostate apparantly feels "really normal?" (You have to take compliments wherever you can get them.)

The topper, though, is that in a strange parallel to my Mother's recent visit to her doctor, my blood pressure spiked while I was there. Funny that my blood pressure was high, having run from work where I was trying to meet a deadline, get cash for the cab and make it to my new doctor's appointment on the day before my first vacation day since New Year's Day.

Out of curiosity, afterwards I used the blood pressure machine at the Rite Aid a block away. It said 130/70. Not that I trust machines more than humans, but machines don't get kickbacks to prescribe hypertension medications, y'know?