Head in the Sand ... and other unpopular positions Read Free

He shakes his head and asks, “Can
we call in another doctor?”
    Doctor #3 is added to our motley crew, and,
judging from the dialogue, I’ve stepped right into a Marx Brothers
movie.
    The only thing they agree
on is that I should see a dermatologist. Like, yesterday . One dermatologist offers
me an appointment for next Thanksgiving. Did I mention how much I
love my new HMO?
    After my doctor’s receptionist badgers
another dermatologist into an appointment the same week, I feel the
resolution can’t be far behind. I return from that visit with the
following information at my fingertips (which are the only parts of
me left without the rash):
     
    • The good news is
that the dermatologist had to ask me only two simple questions
before she made a diagnosis.
    • The bad news is
that I’ll have to pay $125 for that five minutes if my new
insurance hasn’t kicked in yet.
     
    • The good news is
that the disorder has a name: pityriasis
rosea .
    • The bad news is
that even that homeschooled Indian kid would have been stumped on
this one in the National Spelling Bee.
     
    • The good news is
that it’s not contagious.
    • The bad news is
that people don’t believe you that it’s not
contagious.
     
    • The good news is
that it’s like chicken pox: You get it only once and then develop a
lifelong immunity.
    • The bad news is
that it’s like chicken pox: It itches like crazy, spreads
everywhere, and looks absolutely disgusting.
     
    • The good news is
that it will go away on its own.
    • The bad news is
that it will go away on its own because no one knows how it gets
there in the first place. “It will go away on its own” is a
doctor’s catch-all phrase for ninety percent of the ailments I have
ever had.
     
    • The good news is
that there is a progression this rash follows, and it looks normal
for the three-week mark.
    • The bad news is
that it lasts eight to twelve weeks.
     
    • The good news is
that the dermatologist prescribed two steroid creams for the
itching.
    • The bad news is
that one of them burns off three layers of skin, and the other one
does about as much good as rubbing Crisco on my
torso.
     
    • The good news is
that my pharmacy has a drive-thru window so I won’t have to go
inside with this ugly rash.
    • The bad news is
our new health plan isn’t accepted at this
pharmacy.
     
    • The good news is
there is another pharmacy with a drive-thru window only a few
blocks away, and they take my health plan.
    • The bad news is I
have to walk in anyway because the plastic drive-thru vacuum tube I
am supposed to put my prescription into slips out of my hands and
rolls under my car, and I accidentally run over
it.
     
    • The good news is I
slip past the front counter without anyone seeing me carrying fifty
pieces of crushed plastic.
    • The bad news is
they are all staring at my rash instead, and the pharmacists in the
back of the store probably wonder what other medications I am on to
have demolished a big plastic tube at one mile per
hour.
     
    • The good news is
that oatmeal baths relieve the itching enough to go to bed at
night.
    • The bad news is
that my husband prefers Cream of Wheat.
     

Tightening Your Belt
     
    It is bad. Really bad. We
rip up the old living room carpet and realize we have to sand down
the shredded chunks of petrified wood underneath. My husband,
though, is giddy with anticipation. As I wrestle the furniture out
of the room, he runs to the basement and drags out his belt sander,
ripping the ratty old belt off and slipping a new belt on with
ease.
    Then he reaches for the thingamajig that
tightens the belt. It isn’t there. None of the handles on the
contraption tighten anything—except his forehead, which is pinched
so tight I fear an aneurysm.
    “ Why don’t I look in that
drawer where you keep the owner’s manuals for everything you’ve
owned since sixth grade?” I offer.
    “ Somebody gave this to me
second-hand. I never had the manual.” If