It’s Fun To Be Sick!
I went to the doctor today, as the tiny fever I had last week hasn’t gone away. My father recommended the doctor, a spitfire in the form of a little Chinese woman, to me — she’s actually my grandmother’s primary care physician, in the heart of Oakland’s Chinatown. When I was told this, I expected walking into a herbal store, some old Chinese woman glaring at me, weighing tiger penis and ginseng on a giant scale.
Nope, she’s wackier. Chinese in italics.
Doctor: So, I understand you are Mrs. Hsiung’s grandson.
Ernie: Yes, I am.
Doctor: Did you know she was just in the doctors office today?
Ernie: No, I didn’t. How is she?
Doctor: …
Ernie: …
Doctor: She is cuckoo.
Ernie: She’s a little eccentric, yeah.
Doctor: Does she keep on telling you she is going to die soon?
Ernie: Uh, YEAH. Totally creepy. “Ernie, Grandma is going to die soon. Would you like a tangerine?” I shouldn’t be gossiping about my family, should I?
Doctor: Heh, heh, heh.
Later…
Doctor: Okay. I assign you anti-biotics.
Ernie: Uhmm… are you sure whatever I have is bacterial?
Doctor: Whatever you had was probably viral, and then you caught some sort of nasty bacteria. Besides, if we know that this stuff we’re giving you won’t work you have either walking pneumonia or meningitis.
Ernie: Fan-fucking-tastic.
Doctor: Wha?
Ernie: Nothing.
