the crazycow and pokey show

date: friday, july 25, 2008
time: @9:30 a.m.
place: crazycow's office

crazycow was seated across from me, her desk separating us. i had just settled myself into a highly uncomfortable chair and crossed my legs, notepad resting on my thigh, pencil poised above the lined paper. i take a deep breath, open my mouth to begin the discussion about the upcoming events for next week, when out of the blue she blurts out

"nikki, are you depressed?"

mouth agape, i'm looking at her, just a bit pissed off i was interrupted before i can get a word out.

now there are a couple of questions running through my mind. 1. what the fuck does this have to do with our current discussion? and 2. see number one. i stare at her with a slightly bewildered frown before speaking.

"um, no?"

"well, i had to ask because you don't smile as much as you did when you first began working here."

i literally had to hold down the sarcastic smirk trying to get a grip on my lips. did she really just say that to me?

now there are a couple of questions/thoughts running through my mind. 1. is smiling profusely part of my job duties? and 2. when i first took this gig, i didn't realize i'd be working for pyscho-bitch, a disappointing development guaranteed to wipe the smile off of gotham's joker.

i'm holding the pencil in my hand a bit more tightly, fishing for a way to respond to her statement.

"um, i didn't realize i was smiling less," i began carefully, "but no doubt if i AM smiling less it's probably because i'm deep in thought about the things i'm responsible for around here."

now she's looking at me intently...actually, it was kinda intense. i felt like i was being thoroughly dissected from loc'd head to crimson-tipped toes.

see, this is what i hate about working at a school of medicine...folk are constantly on the search for things to find wrong with mofos.

last week i made the mistake of telling one of the professors my stomach was acting up a bit. before i could even continue with my statement, she's deluging me with questions trying to determine what could be upsetting my stomach.

"how long has your stomach been feeling like this?" asked the professor (from here on known as pokey) as she transitioned seamlessly from colleague to attending physician.

"uh..." i answered, taken aback by the sudden change. i squirmed in my chair.

"lean back," pokey commanded as she reached over and began digging her knuckles into my abdomen.

wtf?!?

"is it a queasy feeling or a cramping feeling?"

"uh..."

"does this hurt?" she asked after each invasive poke. i felt like the intimidated third-grader being harassed by a much larger bully, only i couldn't retaliate by slamming her in the head with my rusted scooby-doo lunch box. instead i was forced to sit back and take the abuse.

if by 'this' you mean the way you're bitch-slapping my cervix, then yeah, it hurts

"no," i gasp outloud as i felt what surely had to be her hands rearranging my liver.

"just a second or two more," pokey responded, preoccupied with the task of sticking holes through me with her suddenly talon-like fingers, "i want to make sure i'm not missing anything."

i'll be missing some internal organs if you keep this up

"no problem," i winced as i respond hoarsely, my mind retrieving the chapter in the employee handbook regarding inappropriate touching. unfortunately, there's nothing in there addressing the non-sexual physical examination of a fellow co-worker for medicinal purposes.

i really must talk to someone about that...

"have you been vomiting any?" she asks as she pulls her hands of death up offa me. i could feel all my bruised and violated internal organs curl up into fetal positions to await questioning by the police and the administering of a rape kit.

"no," i begin, "i mean, when i say my stomach is acting up a bit, i mean it's just..."

"do you think you might be pregnant?" she interrupts me.

silence.

please tell me there's something in the employee handbook stating explicitly how inappropriate THAT question is...

"not unless it's divine conception," i responded slightly aghast.

"who is your regular physician?" she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly, "do i know him/her?"

"i haven't chosen a doctor yet."

"have you eaten anything out of the ordinary lately?"

does cum count?

i laughed internally at that little joke. i haven't had a dick in my mouth since...actually, it's too far back for me even to remember.

"no," i sighed dejectedly.

she stood there a moment, brow furrowed, her eyes focused sharply on the ceiling as she mentally went through the symptoms to come up with a possible diagnosis.

"it doesn't sound like anything serious," pokey said slowly after a moment, "but just to be safe, i'd recommend you schedule an appointment with your physician."

it was then i realized i really should have been quicker on the draw. when i initially told her my stomach was feeling a bit off, i was gonna add "but no doubt it's just gas cuz i had milk earlier today."

however, i just didn't have the heart to tell her i was slightly lactose intolerant after all that work on her part. hell, she felt as if she'd just saved a life. let her have her moment.

sooooo

back to friday and my boss and her diagnosis of depression...

"are you sure you're not depressed?" crazycow asked.

"should i be?"

"i just want to make sure i'm not missing anything," she said with compassion, "i know you're going through a pretty overwhelming time right now."

let's see...i've been recently poked thoroughly by someone without benefit of an orgasm before having my sanity questioned by a certifiably insane person...there is absolutely NOTHING right with this picture...

"nah," i replied with an inward sigh, "everything's cool..."

really...no wonder folk are always talking about what's wrong with them. i mean, in the place where folk are TAUGHT to be doctors, folk are so busy focusing on what's wrong with people they lose sight of what's right, ergo, the answer they come up with is to continue medication/office visits to address the symptoms (what's WRONG) instead of finding out what keeps folk healthy (what they're doing RIGHT) and coming up with solutions to END disease. i could have sworn doctors were supposed to be empowering healers and not 'perpetuators of dependence upon pharmacuticals and purveyors of the helpless mindset of seeking short-sighted solutions by addressing only the symptoms.'

then again, i'm probably just feeling the residual effects of having my internal organs shifted around. i AM kind of tired of shitting out of my nose...