Sexual Interrogation?

BOOBIE-trapped -- LITERALLY & Hilariously! True tale when my boob got trapped in...well, you gotta click it to find out! #funny #embarrassing #mammogram #fireman

So then…he looks me over and asks, “Have you had sexual relations with anyone with yellow jaundice or viral hepatitis?”

And I think, Omigod, do I look like someone who’s been doing that? Do I look jaundicy?

“No!” I exclaim defensively.

Now I’m worried he thinks “she doth protest too much” and that I’ve totally been shagging hepatitis-jaundice people all day long.

“Any tattoos or body piercings?” he asks.

“No,” I say, trying to think how I can prove this to him without completely disrobing – and realizing that it would be much easier to prove that one DOES have tattoos (i.e. look at the skull on my ass!) or piercings (i.e. check out my nipple ring!) than to prove one does NOT.

“In the past twelve months, have you had a positive test for syphilis?”

I hesitate. Does he mean “positive” as in – a positive result — like “hooray, I don’t have syphilis!” — or “positive” as in – “damn, I tested positive for syphilis!”

He looks up from his clipboard.

“Nope, no syphilis, nope,” I say quickly.

“In the past 12 months, have you had sex with a male who has had sex, even once, since 1977 with another male?”

Omigod, that’s a lot of pressure. Now I’m responsible for remembering everyone I had sex with – plus everyone THEY had sex with? How would I know? This is the age of the bisexual, the metrosexual, the hypersexual. As far as I know, none of my males had relations with other males, but that phrase “even once” is stressing me out. I’m trying to recall if anyone’s said something like “I experimented a bit in college” — or “one time, at band camp…”

“Ummmm,” I stammer. “I’m not sure. Since 1977, huh? That’s a lot to think about.”

He says, “You don’t have to think of everyone you had sex with since 1977 – just if your recent partners had male relations since 1977. So just think of the people you’ve had sex with in the past 12 months.”

Oh, that narrows it down some.

“Ok, then no.”

He checks off the box on the form and prepares to ask another question.

He’s already asked if I’ve been to Haiti — if I’ve injected drugs by syringe — if I’ve had sex with anyone who’s injected drugs by syringe — while in Haiti.

These are awfully personal questions and I should be incensed by this invasive procedure. I’m just trying to give blood, for God’s sakes. I’m trying to save lives, people! Cut me some slack on the inquisition!

On the other hand, I’m such a people-pleaser, I want to answer all the questions correctly. And I’m so competitive, I want to ace this test and prove that my blood is the best, most pure, most awesome blood they could ever hope to collect today! Super Blood!

He asks, “At any time, have you taken money or drugs in exchange for sex?”

I pause. “Well, I’m married – so does jewelry count?”

***

Fortunately, the Blood Drive tech has a sense of humor.

I pass the test. I give the blood. I get cookies and juice.

And I save lives, people!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Any fun stories to share about your visits to the doctor, hospital, blood bank – or times when you had to share personal info you’d rather keep private? Do tell!)

Welcome to So Then Stories: Hilarious True Tales

Do you enjoy Hilarious True Tales about embarrassing kids, exasperating coworkers, vexing relationships, and the ever-perplexing public?  Then you'll LOVE SoThenStories.com!  Come laugh with us!  #funny #kids #office #husbands #humor

Hey, pull up a bar stool and let’s swap funny stories about our embarrassing kids, exasperating coworkers, vexing relationships, and the ever-perplexing public!  This is where I share my bodacious blunders and hilarious true tales – and invite YOU to share YOUR related experiences – so the laughs just keep rolling!

“Hmm,” you may ask, “Are you really funny?”  Well, not to brag (omg, I’m TOTALLY bragging!), but I won 1st Place in the 2014 Nat. Society of Newspaper Columnists competition (Blog Category under 100,000 monthly visitors) – and I won 2 Humor VOTY Awards at BlogHer in 2013 & 2014.  I was even named Humor Writer of August 2014 by Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop!  Woot! Woot!

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TOTALLY Embarrassed in Front of Dr. Fancypants! HILARIOUS True Tale #doctor #medical #embarrassing #funny #teens

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Telling His Teacher a Big Fat Juicy Lie!  #funny #boys #teacher #school #humor

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BOOBIE-trapped -- LITERALLY & Hilariously! True tale when my boob got trapped in...well, you gotta click it to find out! #funny #embarrassing #mammogram #fireman

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Oh, She Did NOT Just Say That! #funny #school #drama #volunteer #pta #pisces #cosmetics #hair #humor

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TOTALLY Embarrassed in Front of Dr. Fancypants

TOTALLY Embarrassed in Front of Dr. Fancypants! HILARIOUS True Tale #doctor #medical #embarrassing #funny #teens

So then…my daughter Chloe, age 14, and I enter the lush plush offices of Dr. Blake, dermatologist extraordinaire, with some trepidation.

Oh, don’t get me wrong – I LOVE Dr. Blake. He’s up on the latest techniques and buys the newest high-tech gadgets.

But Dr. Blake doesn’t take insurance so I know this visit will set me back a cool $200 bucks – which is why we only visit him when his trailblazing expertise is required.

As I sign in, Chloe sprawls on the reception area couch and whispers loudly, “Is it impolite if I lay down here and sleep a little?”

“Oh my God, yes, you slug! Sit up straight and play on your phone like a normal person!”

It’s Spring Break so she’d rather be sleeping in than visiting the doctor, but I’m concerned about a rash she developed on the front of her neck, just above her collar bone, a few weeks ago.

(We’d already visited our regular dermatologist TWICE, who prescribed TWO different ointments – which didn’t work.)

Four weeks later, it’s still there!  And NOW there’s a similar brown rash on her ankles!

So I’ve whipped myself into a frenzy because I’m convinced that this rash is merely the EXTERNAL manifestation of something very SERIOUSLY wrong with her INTERNAL organs.

Hence the visit to the expensive Dr. Blake. He ushers us into the inner sanctum of his high-tech Star Trek-like offices. He puts on his super-awesome magnifying laser goggles WITH lights – and leans in to examine the neck rash.

My heart’s pounding, eager to know the diagnosis.

He reaches toward the tray of silver gleaming equipment, each tool more modern and sleek than the next.

He grabs a cotton ball with alcohol and rubs her neck firmly – and the rash DISAPPEARS.

Let me say that again. He rubs alcohol on the rash – AND IT DISAPPEARS.

Now he rubs alcohol on her ankles and THOSE rashes disappear.

WHAT.THE.HELL?

He says, “With dry skin, it’s important to clean well with soap and water when showering.”

WHAT?

She didn’t have a flesh-eating bacterial virus inflammation?

She was just…DIRTY?

He has the good sense to look down discreetly to jot notes in the file, while I shoot a withering glare to my daughter that could melt ALL of her skin into a puddle on the floor.

“Are you kidding me, Chloe? We had to come all the way to the DOCTOR’S OFFICE to find out you don’t SHOWER properly?”

She has the good sense to look sheepish.

(And I assure you — she DOES shower, but evidently needs to apply a bit more enthusiasm to the task.  And to be fair, it was a patch of stubborn dirt, on very dry skin — but STILL.)

She stammers, “Well…I…um…I…”

I burst out laughing. “You don’t work in a coal mine, for God’s sake!”

I sigh dramatically and gather up our purses and sweaters, waiting for Dr. Blake to finish up the paperwork.

He frowns indecisively at the form and murmurs, “There doesn’t seem to be a code for ‘dirt.’”

“OH MY GOD! Do you hear that, Chloe? Do you hear that?” I ask, laughing. “He can’t even find a place on the medical form to code this visit! This is so EMBARRASSING!”

She’s giggling –

He’s chuckling –

And I’m laughing – while simultaneously dying of humiliation – knowing full well he’ll be talking about this at dinner tonight. “Oh, Mavis, you had to see this frantic mother worried her daughter had some disfiguring skin disease — but it turns out her daughter was just dirty!!  Hahaha!  Pass the Chablis.”

Good Lord! You’d think we were train hobos with no access to indoor plumbing.

I’m absolutely mortified, but every time I look at her, and her rash-free neck, I just crack up laughing!

So here is my PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

If YOUR child develops a rash –

You could follow MY brilliant plan to rack up THREE doctor visits, $200 plus two $30 co-pays, and FOUR weeks of medical anxiety –

or you could – you know, try a little SOAP AND WATER.

Your choice.

As for me, I might swing by the fire department for Chloe’s daily cleansing…

Totally Embarrassed (Firemen Hose 430)

— Darcy Perdu

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(PLEASE share an embarrassing story about your child so I’ll feel better about myself! Or perhaps a comical visit to the doctor? Something shower-related?)

The SURPRISING Moves That Doctors Make

The Surprising Moves That Doctors Make #funny #doctor #medical #medicine #humor

So then…she opens the door ever-so-slightly, revealing a shaft of glowing light that hints at the promise of miraculous cures that lie within. Everyone stares at her expectantly.

She glances at her clipboard, then announces the name as though she were calling the winning lottery numbers.

I’m so elated that it’s finally me — I actually jump up and shout, “It’s me! It’s me!” The other patients glare at me as I skip to the door.

I can feel their critical eyes surveying my body parts with that judgmental “she doesn’t look sick” expression. Oh, please — as though they’re sporting gaping gunshot wounds to the head.

I mutter internally, “Hey, I’ve been waiting an hour and 23 minutes, my friends.”

I zip into the inner sanctum, relieved that I’ll finally have an audience with my new HMO doctor. But then I wait in the examining room another agonizing 38 minutes.

Finally, Dr. Kendall enters. He looks at my chart and my red, swollen eyes, then asks a few quick questions about any new soaps or new foods — contacted or ingested.

(I consider making a pun about ingesting a Dove bar – since it’s both a soap AND a chocolate – but think better of it as he seems to be in a hurry.)

Just as I begin to ask questions about my eye ailment, he scribbles “Benadryl” on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

“But I tried Benadryl,” I stammer. “I think this is more than an allergic rea-”

He gives me that look. You know, the “Pardon me, which one of us went to med school?” look. “Take two Benadryl a day until it clears up. You’ll be fine.” He turns to the door.

“But I have more questions. I’m worried my eyesight may start to –”

Then he does something I’ve only seen blackjack dealers do when their shift is done:

He claps his hands lightly, dusts off the palms, then holds his hands up!

HOLDS HIS HANDS UP! Like he’s saying, “That’s enough. I’m done. Time to move on.”

And with a mumbled “You’ll be fine,” he disappears.

Of all the nerve! So I call my HMO and request another doctor.

Two weeks and a $35 co-pay later, I’m sitting in the virtually empty waiting room of Dr. Simmons. Cool. This should be a much shorter wait.

Only it isn’t. I wait almost an hour, then finally I meet the good doctor — who is also the old doctor. He’s easily in his late 70’s.

I’m a little bit concerned, but he seems very thorough. He asks me for a complete medical history — and being the attention-deprived patient that I am, I gladly comply. Even though this is an eye issue, I’m so attention-deprived, I’d even disrobe if he asked. He doesn’t ask.

The doctor’s advanced age reminds me of the time my friend Jill disrobed and wore that little paper cover-up when she went to a really old doctor in Washington. When he examined her, he placed his stethoscope against her chest and asked how old her children were.

“Oh, I don’t have any children yet,” she said.

He listened to her heart and asked, “Well, when did you have your appendix out?”

Perplexed, she responded, “I still have my appendix.”

So he said, “Oh. Well, then what is this scar from?”

She looked at her abdomen and said, “Doctor, that’s the indentation my pantyhose left when I took them off!”

I’m worried that septuagenarian Dr. Simmons might also confuse pantyhose lines for a surgery scar, but perhaps I’m being ageist.

Dr. Simmons takes my eye ailment very seriously. He takes all the time in the world to answer my questions. He deeply respects me. He’s awesome!

I happily take Dr. Simmons’ prescription to the pharmacist, relieved that I’m close to the cure. I pick up the ointment, pay the pharmacist, and just as I leave, he says, “Now remember, keep that away from your eyes.”

“What? What? This ointment is for my eyes!” I exclaim. “I’m supposed to slather this all over my eyes twice a day for a week!”

The pharmacist looks at the prescription again. He shakes his head and says, “Your doctor prescribed *dio_____________. He probably meant to prescribe *mono______________.”

In disbelief, I ask, “And the difference between the dio and the mono is—“

“Uh, well…blindness,” he says.

I’m in shock. “How could he…I mean…I just…he’s supposed to know…this is insane!”

We’re silent a moment. Then the pharmacist looks at me and says, “HMO?”

We lock eyes. I nod. He pats my shoulder.

— Darcy Perdu

*I can’t recall the names of the two medications, but the difference between “good for eyes” and “causes blindness” was literally the first few letters of the medication names! What the hell’s wrong with you, pharmaceutical drug-namers!?  And THANK YOU, vigilant pharmacists!

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Original Illustration for So Then Stories created by Mary Chowdhury

(Any busy doctors who didn’t have time for your questions — or who exhibited odd behavior? Share your FUNNY Medical Stories in the Comments!)