Under Pressure

I had a doctor's appointment this past week; got to get my money's worth out of Medicare, you know.

Everything is fine; I'm the picture of health, if that picture is hanging skin and gray hair. But I think my physician had had a bad commute or was mad at his wife or something.

He decided to check my blood pressure. Wrapping the cuff around my arm, he began pumping that little ball to air the thing up. It was getting tighter and tighter, yet he kept squeezing and squeezing on the tiny air pump.

Uh, Doc, that's starting to hurt. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

Seriously, man, my arm is really tingling below my elbow. Pump, pump, pump.

Honestly, Doctor, my arm is blue, no, purple. My arm is purple, Doc. Squeeze, squeeze.

"Doc!" I finally implored in panic.

"Oh, I am sorry!" He finally released the ball. "Oh dear, Mr. Cosgriff! Your blood pressure is 295 over 178!" 

I'm sure it's not, Doc. Try again, on my other arm. The bicep on my right arm is smaller than my index finger just now.

It's how you say it

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. For those of you concerned about me (you are out there, aren't you?) it was nothing to worry about, just my regular checkup. Everything looks good.

Upon arrival the first thing I heard was, "Why are you here?" from a nurse. We had had a snowstorm overnight here in the D.

"Uh, I had a doctor's appointment," I replied, rather sheepishly considering it wasn't exactly a state secret. At least it should not have been to the staff.

So I get the routine physical and had blood drawn, and all looks good, although I won't of course know about the blood until after the tests. If all I get is a letter in the mail with the results as I typically do, they'll be fine. It's getting a call about them which would worry me!

When all was done the doctor instructed the nurse at the front desk to make my next appointment in August, and then he went about his doctorly way. The nurse turned to me and said, "Okay, we're giving you six months Mr. Cosgriff."

Feigning horror I replied, "I wish you wouldn't put it that way."

The young woman stared at me before bursting into laughter. "I see what you mean." Handing me a card with the time and date of the appointment (August 16 at 8:30 if you must know) she then said very certainly, "We will see you in six months, Mr. Cosgriff."

"Thank you," I said.