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For medicinal purposes only
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In preparing for the simple surgical procedure I was about to endure, I was asked to bring whatever medications I was using with me to the doctor’s office.

I walked around the kitchen, flipping open cabinet doors, pulling out drawers, searching for the medications I take “prn” - as necessary.

I had a big plastic sack and I was filling it up, debating whether the doctor would nod his head at my choices or wag his finger.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and ho-ho-ho’d my way out to my vehicle, depositing it in the back cargo area.

Off I went.

I tried to park as close to the medical building as I could, and managed to make the short walk from the parking lot to the building without tripping or falling as I switched the bulky bag from one shoulder to the other.

A security guard stopped me as I attempted to walk into the building.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I need to see what’s inside the bag.”

He waited as I deposited the bag on the ground and opened it.

He leaned over and looked inside.

I saw his eyebrows go up as he reached into the bag and moved things around.

“OK. You can go. Good luck with that,” he said, as he stepped aside.

I made it to the elevator and up to the doctor’s office.

The receptionist greeted me and asked if I had brought along the medications I was currently using.

I hoisted the bag up to the counter and said, “Right here.”

She raised an eyebrow at me and said with a sigh, “Hoookaaay ... I’ll let doctor know you’re here....”

I sat in the waiting area, flipping through one of the totally boring magazines they have on hand. I wondered why they never have copies of “The Enquirer” or “Weekly World News” and surmised it was because people would take them home.

Who the heck would want to swipe a copy of “Yachting Today”?

A few minutes later, I heard my name being called out. I got up and dragged the bag behind me.

The nurse asked, “What’s in the bag?” as we headed for scales and blood pressure machine.

“My medications.”

“Oh...really?” She looked at me like I’d just spoken in tongues.

“Yep. Stuff I take ‘as needed’.”

Blood pressure: Fine.

Weight: Whatever.

I was escorted back to a chilly little exam room, and the doctor came in almost immediately.

After general inquiries as to my health and overall “feel good” status, he got down to business.

“Are those your medications?” he asked, pointing at the bag.

I nodded.

“OK, let’s see what you’ve got.”

I put the bag on my lap and pulled one item out at a time for discussion.

“Cheetos. Oh, the crunchy kind!” he said, moving it over to the side.

“Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls ... Ms. Lambert, I don’t know about this one...,” he said, shaking his head.

I pulled out the next item and deposited it on the desk.

“Ahhh...Cabernet Franc. How often?” he asked, jotting down notes on my file.

“Not too often. A glass every now and then. Sometimes it’s Zinfandel, sometimes it’s Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“OK. As long as it’s not a bottle at a time. Next!”

I pulled out a package of marinated mozzarrella. He picked it up and turned it over, looking at it as though he’d never seen anything like it in his life.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Marinated mozzarrella! Haven’t you ever had it?”

He wrinkled his nose and said, “I don’t eat cheese.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing...” I said, smirking at his wrinkled nose.

“OK, what else you got in there?”

I pulled out an empty box of Klondike bars - the bars were at home in the freezer - a box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars, a Rice Krispy Treat, a sleeve of Oreos, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, a jar of Jif smooth peanut butter, and a bag of Fritos Scoops.

“I would have brought along the tub of sour cream I use with those,” I said, pointing at the Fritos, “but I didn’t want to risk it going too sour on me.”

He sat back and folded his arms across his chest.

“What surprises me,” he said, tilting his chin down and looking at me over his glasses, “is that your blood pressure is so good. Why do you eat all this junk anyway? What about fresh fruits and vegetables?”

“Have you ever tried any of this stuff, doctor?”

“Why would I?” he asked.

Oh man. How I lucked out getting the Goody Two Shoes of his graduating class was beyond me.

He saw the look in my eyes.

“You don’t exercise enough. Your weight tells me that,” he said, tapping the file with his pen. “I bet if you exercised more, you wouldn’t want to eat all this junk.”

“I bet if I exercised more, this would be all I would eat!”

He started putting all of the items back into the big plastic bag and suggested I eat less fat and more fiber.

“Can I have it with cheese?” I asked, half jokingly.

He shook his head, trying hard not to smile.

I reached out to take the bag from him and he pulled it back.

“I’m keeping this here. I might need to make a display case out of it.”

Yeaaaahhhh. Riiiiight....

I was going out the door when I turned and saw him peeking in the bag again.

“Go naughty for once!” I whispered.

He looked at me, pulled out the marinated mozzarrella and went “Shhh....”

“My work here is done. See you later, doctor!”