Mr b’s back has been bothering him lately, so he decided to stay home on Monday and go to the doctor. Of course in mr b’s fantasy world, you can decide to stay home in the morning, call the doctor’s office and they will say, “Of course come right in, we’re waiting for you. Should we send a car?” In real life, of course, when you call your doctor expecting to get in immediately (and you aren’t, say, bleeding from your eyeballs), you generally get, HAHAHAHAHAHA!
Since we’re living in the real world and not his super awesome fantasy one, he got the latter. So he decided he would see a chiropractor. He looked at different listings and settled on one nearby. And as luck would have it, they had an opening that morning and he could come in.
He told me somewhat sheepishly that he was going. It seems that I am “the family skeptic.” And, well…I am. Don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-chiropractors. I really do believe that they can do a lot of good. But I also have a strong belief in medicine. And by that, I don’t mean drugs, but medicine and medical science as a whole. Whether it’s doctors or tests or x-rays or therapy or drugs, I would turn to each of them before turning to a chiropractor. I have a fear of seeing a chiropractor without seeing a doctor first and him or her making things worse. I find myself thinking things like – what if there is a tiny fracture (or something) and they turn it into a big fracture (or something)? Huh, HUH? But mr b and his big plan of rightnowrightnowrightnow doesn’t have tome to get it checked out before skipping happily to get an adjustment. And whatever – it’s not my back.
A little while later, I get a call. It’s mr b and he is at the chiropractor;s office. They want my social security number. MY. Social Security Number. Ummm…Fuck no? Are tyou kidding? Forst off, he is the patient, not me, so they don’t need a damned thing of mine. Second, there is no reason for them to even have his SSN. He’s paying cash up front for his portion, and they have the insurance card. And, actually, the insurance company recently changed ID numbers in order to remove SSNs. So, again, FUCK NO! I told him to tell them to kiss my fat ass, and that they were obviously quacks and up to no good.
So anyway, he has the appointment and comes home and says he feels a little better. But he was a little put off by Dr. Quack because he was absolutely not interested in mr b’s history (and falling 2 stories might be important, you think?), but instead started in on how he could cure mr b of all that ails him. He could fix his cholesterol and his blood pressure and his hangnails and his toothache and his hysterectomy scar (OK, he actually just said the first two, but I imagine that if he had a chance, he would have gone for the others too). But, since he felt a little better, he was going to give the guy a try. He did some kind of test on him and wanted him to come back that evening for the results. He did, got the results and they made his next appointment.
When he came home, he said they wanted me to come to it. What? Why in the blue fuck would I need to come to his chiropractor? He really didn’t have an answer to that – just some vague shit about information and understanding and blah blah I smell a rat blah blah.
I forgot all about it until Wednesday evening when he asked me if I was going. After I got done laughing, I told him that no, I would not be going to what I was now convinced was some sort of scam quackery. I had a million other things I didn’t want to do that were about 47 times more appealing than that, thanks.
He came through the door that evening with a look on his face that said I was right.
Apparently, that that evening’s “appointment,” they made him (and a couple of other
suckers patients) sit through a “presentation.” And by “presentation, I mean “blaringly loud youtube video on how doctors and pharmacists and medicine are KILLING US ALL!!”
Well, alrighty, then.
Now, clearly, mr be is much more
stupid naive patient than I am because I would have been out of there about 10 seconds into that AV nightmare. They pulled that shit on me at an optical place once and I told them to either give me what I came (and paid) for or kiss my ass and call my attorney. And don’t even get me started on the timeshare wankers (although at least you get a free gift at the end of that shit). But anyway, he is “more patient” so he stayed and suffered through it.
At then end of it, they passed around a bowl and told everyone to put their prescription drugs in it, because they wouldn’t need them anymore. I think they left out the part about how they especially wanted the narcotics because they are CLEARLY crushing and snorting them in the back room. The sad part? One elderly woman actually complied! She was probably dead by sundown.
After telling me all of this, he pulled out his “treatment plan.” It didn’t say a whole lot about what was wrong with him, or what they would be doing, but it was super clear that he would have to go back 75 times. And the cost would be approximately seven hundred thousand billion dollars. It also had a nice description of their financing plan complete with breakdowns of payments and interest. Oh, I get it now.
I don’t think mr b will be going back.
The best part was that I talked to my aunt later that evening and told her that mr b had seen a chiropractor, but we think he is a quack. And she said, “Is it Dr. Quack over in the plaza? Because my friend E went to him last year and all he did was tell her he could cure everything that ailed her in 75 visits for seven hundred thousand billion dollars.”
OK, I know mr b won’t be going back.