02-27/And Let Me Tell You Why

There are plenty of reasons why I don't like going to the doctor. But I guess, who doesn't. I think it all went way back to my pediatrician. She was of Indian descent and since most of our town went to her, she was familiar with everyone.

I remember weakly, when I was a wee lad, bringing my sister to her as a baby. She knew everyone.

I used to go to her for a sore throat, chest cold, fever - all things that children go to the doctor for, and things that all involve the waist up. After a while though, after checking my throat, she used to start taking liberties to check other things.

My mom, dad, or both, usually along with my sister, would accompany these trips into the exam room itself, so it started getting even more uncomfortable. Basically, she started checking on my, "development."

I started to explain to my parents that I was getting uncomfortable with this, and I believe as I got older it just became a running joke. However, it started to make me panic about going to see her.

She was a cool lady, one of those abrasive people who could talk to you that way because she knew you since you were a baby. I think once my parents made a mention of it to her, even in a joking way, she explained to me that she was checking on my progress.

???

Then she showed me a horrible "chart" of what they are supposed to look like as the years progressed. The worst part is that it was real people and photos.

I started going to a new doctor as an adult and he was also of Indian descent with a fantastic accent as well. He is my grandparents, and parents doctor, so he knew of who I was. He used to always tell me that my blood pressure was high, and that I needed to stop eating cold cuts. At least four or five visits, he would always say,

"Nooooh Kld KUTS!!!"
Ok, I got it.
"And Don't use a Q Tip!!"
Ok.
"and No Kld KUTs!"
Right, well I've lost thirty pound--
"KLD KUTS NOOOO!!!"
Yes, but I don't really eat them that---
"No!"

After I left, I went back home to my salami farm, where I planted new salami seeds. I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked out at the acres of salami that I was growing.

From under my sunhat my eyes closed gently and I rose my head to the setting twilight sun. With my mouth opened wide, I imagined myself dancing carefree in the middle of a storm raining bologna, ham, and salami.

"Never," I whispered softly.

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