When the Doctor Says…

The Doctor says: “I’d like to prescribe a new drug.”

Translation: I’m writing a paper and would like to use you for a guinea pig.

The Doctor says: “If it doesn’t clear up in a week, give me a call.”

Translation: I don’t know what the hell it is. Maybe it will go away by itself.

The Doctor says: “That’s quite a nasty looking wound.”

Translation: I think I’m going to throw up.

The Doctor says: “This may smart a little.”

Translation: Last week two patients bit through their tongues.

The Doctor says: “Well, we’re not feeling so well today, are we?”

Translation: I can’t remember your name, nor why you are here.

The Doctor says: “This should fix you up.”

Translation: The drug salesman who took me to lunch last week guaranteed that it kills all symptoms.

The Doctor says: “Everything seems to be normal.”

Translation: I guess I can’t buy that new beach condo after all.

The Doctor says: “I’d like to run some more tests.”

Translation: I can’t figure out what’s wrong. Maybe the geeky kid in the lab can solve this one.

The Doctor says: “Do you suppose all of this stress could be affecting your nerves?”

Translation: He thinks you are crazy and is hoping to find a psychiatrist who will split fees.

The Doctor says: “Why don’t you slip out of your things.”

Translation: I don’t enjoy this any more than you do, but I’ve got to warm my fingers up somehow.

The Doctor says: “If those symptoms persist, call for an appointment next week.”

Translation: I’ve never heard of anything so disgusting. Thank God I’m off next week.

The Doctor says: “There is a lot of that going around.”

Translation: My God, that’s the third one this week. I’d better learn something about this.

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