I had a mysterious injury a few weeks ago. Most of my injuries fit into one of two categories: fitness-related or alcohol-related. This one I just woke up with one day after a night of drinking, so we'll have to call it alcohol-related.
I had this weird pain in my chest that didn't hurt from the outside but felt like someone had shot me with a speargun and it was still stuck in there. How I could have possibly accomplished an internal bruising by being drunk I don't know, but I find it's best not to ask questions the next day about what I may have done the previous night.
I waited a couple of weeks for it to go away on its own, but it wasn't getting any better and it was seriously cramping my exercise routine. So it was time to go to Dr. Botox.
Fans, I don't know if you all know this, but the best type of doctor to have is a gay doctor. Why? Because they love to give out drugs. My last doctor's solution to every problem was to tell me to put ice on it. I'm like, "Thanks, but I don't think ice is going to stop the bleeding." He clearly labelled me as someone who was only after high-grade pharmaceuticals, so he refused to give me any drugs for anything. I was glad to dump him.
Anyway, Dr. Botox doesn't have those hangups. He's pretty much the opposite. Physical therapy? Nah, just take these muscle relaxers. Headache? Here's some Vicodin. (In reality I've never had anything that good from him, but he always reaches for the prescription pad over any alternative therapy.)
I call him Dr. Botox because they run a weekly Botox drop-in clinic one day each week after work. He's a fan of the 'Tox himself. One time he had a black eye and I heard him tell someone it was a Botox-related bruise. Glamorous!
Anyway, his bedside manner is kind of sassy. He has no problem making sex jokes while checking your genitals for cancer. Problem with your throat? You can expect a blowjob joke. Rich the Bitch goes to the same doctor and thinks he's too forward and it makes him a little uncomfortable, but I'm fine with it. No sense pretending we're not both homos.
So anyway, he decided that my speargun injury was some kind of hot spot bruise, like an inflamed bit of muscle between my rib cage. He decided to give me a cortisone shot for it. I had to lay down on my back with my shirt off while he did it, and it was kind of weird and painful.
Then afterwards, he looks at my belly, which was sticking out of my too-tight work pants (I'm too cheap to buy new ones), and says, "Are you gaining weight?"
Before I had a chance to answer him, he grabs my love handles on either side and starts shaking them while going, "Ooooooh! Oooooh!"
I nearly crapped myself laughing. I love Dr. Botox.