Stick out your tongue and say "Ahhhh... I don't think so"
So there's this rule in Belgium that says that when you get sick and you need to stay home from work, you need a note from your Doctor. Yes, that's right. Re-read it again if you didn't quite register it the first time: "you need. a note. from. your doctor".
Today I took my first sick day in a year. I made an appointment with a Doctor who turned out to be, well, pretty damned cute. We sat in his office, he asked me what was wrong. I said I was sick.
"Yes" he said.
"I have a cold" I said holding my breath and wondering if he would kick me out of his office as would be the case in Canada. In Canada' s overburdened healthcare system, if you dared to show up at the Doctor (if you are lucky enough to have a Doctor, which you probably don't) describing cold symptoms, you run the risk of being diagnosed with an anti-social sociopathic disorder.
"What", he asked "are your symptoms"?
"Uh...", I said, amazed that he hadn't even flinched and starting to wonder if he was perhaps an imbecile, "cooooold symptoms".
"Yes" he said, waiting.
Feeling kind of stupid, I proceeded to describe classic cold symptoms... "stuffy nose, itchy eyes, sore throat, coughing, fever and aches".
He waited for me to go on as though I was actually saying something interesting.
"Listen". I said, cutting to the chase, "I didn't go to work today. I don't want to go tomorrow. I need you to write me a note".
"I will listen to your lungs" he said, "please come into the exam room".
Curious and fascinated at this bizarre attention to common cold symptoms, I followed him past the room divider.
"Please take off your shirt" he said. "You can put it on that chair".
Thinking he MUST mean the sweater I was wearing I took it off and sat on the exam table.
He turned around, looked at me with a little frown and said "and your shirt please".
"My shirt"? I said. "Why do I need to take off my shirt"?
"So that I can hear your lungs".
"I don't think I need to take off my shirt for that" I said.
"Yes" he said gesturing with his stethoscope, "I can't hear otherwise"
There was a flurry of thought bubbles over my head... variously they read:
.oO (Pervert! Run! He's a Pervert!.... )
.oO (...anal retentive Doctors, I have a fucking cold for Christ sake)
.oO (...ohmygod! what bra am I wearing today?)
.oO (this is what I get for seeing a male Doctor)
... and finally, the thought bubble that won out:
.oO (Colleen, take your damned shirt off, you need the note, you're wearing your pretty white lace bra, and this is the cutest Doctor you've ever seen... what the FUCK are you hesitating for... maybe he's a pervert! A totally hot, perverted Doctor who wants to see your bra!).
I took off my shirt, sucked in my stomach and sat on the table.
He brought up his stethoscope and listened to my breathing. I breathed in deeply, jutting out my breasts.
"Please cough" he requested.
.oO (Pervert) I thought, coughing daintily.
"Good" he said and started to feel around my glands "please tell me if this hurts"
Quite the opposite, I noticed, but said nothing.
"Does this hurt"? he asked with one hand on my neck and the other on my bare back.
"No" I said "It feels really good".
.oO (oh shit, I cannot believe I said that out loud).
"Ok, we're done". He said.
A trifle disappointed that I was the only apparent pervert in the room, I put my shirt on and we moved back into his office area.
"You have an upper resipiratory viral infection" he said.
"You mean a cold" I said
"It's an infection of your upper respiratory system which is why you are so congested and achy", he responded.
"So, I have a cold". I repeated.
After the slightest pause he said "Yes" and started explaining cold symptomology to me in terms that made it sound a hair's breath away from some exotic rainforest disease. "I am prescribing you two days at home from work".
Exsqueeze me???
"Great" I said, watching him fill out the little get-out-of-work-free card.
He handed me the "prescription" to stay in bed, watch movies and surf the internet, and then he charged me 20Euros, which I happily paid.
If you are wondering what happens in Belgium if you are too sick to go to the Doctor to get a note for work... {wait for it...} they will come to your house. Yes, you read that correctly. The Doctor. will come. To. Your. House.
Crazy.
But one thing I know for sure. Next time, I have a cold, this cute Doctor is definitely coming to my house.
So there's this rule in Belgium that says that when you get sick and you need to stay home from work, you need a note from your Doctor. Yes, that's right. Re-read it again if you didn't quite register it the first time: "you need. a note. from. your doctor".
Today I took my first sick day in a year. I made an appointment with a Doctor who turned out to be, well, pretty damned cute. We sat in his office, he asked me what was wrong. I said I was sick.
"Yes" he said.
"I have a cold" I said holding my breath and wondering if he would kick me out of his office as would be the case in Canada. In Canada' s overburdened healthcare system, if you dared to show up at the Doctor (if you are lucky enough to have a Doctor, which you probably don't) describing cold symptoms, you run the risk of being diagnosed with an anti-social sociopathic disorder.
"What", he asked "are your symptoms"?
"Uh...", I said, amazed that he hadn't even flinched and starting to wonder if he was perhaps an imbecile, "cooooold symptoms".
"Yes" he said, waiting.
Feeling kind of stupid, I proceeded to describe classic cold symptoms... "stuffy nose, itchy eyes, sore throat, coughing, fever and aches".
He waited for me to go on as though I was actually saying something interesting.
"Listen". I said, cutting to the chase, "I didn't go to work today. I don't want to go tomorrow. I need you to write me a note".
"I will listen to your lungs" he said, "please come into the exam room".
Curious and fascinated at this bizarre attention to common cold symptoms, I followed him past the room divider.
"Please take off your shirt" he said. "You can put it on that chair".
Thinking he MUST mean the sweater I was wearing I took it off and sat on the exam table.
He turned around, looked at me with a little frown and said "and your shirt please".
"My shirt"? I said. "Why do I need to take off my shirt"?
"So that I can hear your lungs".
"I don't think I need to take off my shirt for that" I said.
"Yes" he said gesturing with his stethoscope, "I can't hear otherwise"
There was a flurry of thought bubbles over my head... variously they read:
.oO (Pervert! Run! He's a Pervert!.... )
.oO (...anal retentive Doctors, I have a fucking cold for Christ sake)
.oO (...ohmygod! what bra am I wearing today?)
.oO (this is what I get for seeing a male Doctor)
... and finally, the thought bubble that won out:
.oO (Colleen, take your damned shirt off, you need the note, you're wearing your pretty white lace bra, and this is the cutest Doctor you've ever seen... what the FUCK are you hesitating for... maybe he's a pervert! A totally hot, perverted Doctor who wants to see your bra!).
I took off my shirt, sucked in my stomach and sat on the table.
He brought up his stethoscope and listened to my breathing. I breathed in deeply, jutting out my breasts.
"Please cough" he requested.
.oO (Pervert) I thought, coughing daintily.
"Good" he said and started to feel around my glands "please tell me if this hurts"
Quite the opposite, I noticed, but said nothing.
"Does this hurt"? he asked with one hand on my neck and the other on my bare back.
"No" I said "It feels really good".
.oO (oh shit, I cannot believe I said that out loud).
"Ok, we're done". He said.
A trifle disappointed that I was the only apparent pervert in the room, I put my shirt on and we moved back into his office area.
"You have an upper resipiratory viral infection" he said.
"You mean a cold" I said
"It's an infection of your upper respiratory system which is why you are so congested and achy", he responded.
"So, I have a cold". I repeated.
After the slightest pause he said "Yes" and started explaining cold symptomology to me in terms that made it sound a hair's breath away from some exotic rainforest disease. "I am prescribing you two days at home from work".
Exsqueeze me???
"Great" I said, watching him fill out the little get-out-of-work-free card.
He handed me the "prescription" to stay in bed, watch movies and surf the internet, and then he charged me 20Euros, which I happily paid.
If you are wondering what happens in Belgium if you are too sick to go to the Doctor to get a note for work... {wait for it...} they will come to your house. Yes, you read that correctly. The Doctor. will come. To. Your. House.
Crazy.
But one thing I know for sure. Next time, I have a cold, this cute Doctor is definitely coming to my house.
posted by Penless Artist at 8:38 p.m.
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