DICK WOLFSIE: DOCTORING MY QUESTIONNAIRE!

DICK WOLFSIE: DOCTORING MY QUESTIONNAIRE!: Whenever I visit my doctor’s office, I have to fill out one form or another. Most of the time, the staff simply wants to confirm that my ...

DOCTORING MY QUESTIONNAIRE!

Whenever I visit my doctor’s office, I have to fill out one form or another. Most of the time, the staff simply wants to confirm that my insurance hasn’t changed, which I think is just medical jargon for: “Has your coverage been dropped?” Before my last appointment, they asked me about my medications and about any side effects I am experiencing. I never have any side effects, but I usually write down headaches, nausea, vomiting, hallucinations, decreased libido and heightened impulsivity. That way they’ll think I’m really taking all my pills.

Here is another question I had to answer:  What is your nickname? I’d never been asked about this before and I really don’t have a nickname, but they hate it when you leave a blank space so I wrote down “Sparky.”  I knew if somehow that ended up on my vial of blood, it would cause a lot of chatter at the lipid lab.

Next, the form wanted me to list any new drugs I’m taking. And then it asked:  What is the frequency? I had my gout medicine with me, so I held it up to my ear, but I couldn’t hear a thing.

My alcohol consumption was also something they wanted to keep track of.  How many cans of beer, how many glasses of wine and how many shots of liquor do I consume in a week? I called my wife to see if she had any idea. “I buy you a case of beer a week,” she said.

“Wait a second. I don’t drink that much beer.”

“Oh, you mean actually ‘drink’ it? You didn’t say that.  I’d say you ingest five beers a week. The rest of the cans I find all over the house, either knocked over by the cat, or warm and three-quarters full in the corners of your office.

There were some questions about my family medical history, requesting info on relatives who had died and their cause of death, including all four of my grandparents. My maternal grandmother died suddenly at 94, her demise the result of large whiskey sours before breakfast and two packs of Camels a day. This should be a lesson to you. I’m just not sure what the lesson is.

The next line inquired about the deaths of my aunts and uncles. We were never a close-knit family, but I thought my brother who still lives in New York might remember some of the details. “Hello, Peter, it’s Dick.”

“Dick who?”

“Very funny. I have a question about Uncle Sid’s death.”

“Oh, how sad. I’m sorry to hear that. When did he die?”

“1985.”

This wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I simply scribbled in something to fill up the space—a cause of death that wouldn’t raise any red flags. It was likely that no one ever looked at those answers, anyway.  But apparently, I’m now quite the topic of conversation in the medical records department. I was told that of all the 2,000 patients in this internal medicine practice, I’m the only one whose aunts and uncles were all run over by a bus.

GROWING PROBLEMS

I’m usually good at planning around big events. For example, I know not to schedule my once-every-five-year colonoscopy the week of the big neighborhood barbeque. I am careful not to sign up for blood tests if the fasting conflicts with the Thursday night meatloaf special at Cracker Barrel. And I’m smart enough to avoid being numbed-up for a filling on the same day I’m delivering a speech at Kiwanis.

But recently, as I made final preparations to attend my high school reunion in New York, I realized I had failed to properly coordinate my barbershop appointment with my trip back east to see my old friends. I looked at the calendar and my dilemma was obvious. I knew I needed to get a haircut about two weeks before the event. Any sooner, and I’d look disheveled in all the photos. Any later, and it would be clear to my buddies that I got the trim just for the party. More importantly, I never look good right after a haircut. The magic number of days after a visit to the barbershop for me is 10. At that point, my hair is not too short, not too long.  Just right. Your number may vary.

I called Buddy, my barber. I figured he’d handled problems like this before. “As I look at my calendar, Dick, I think we can work this out so you’ll look good, but you’ll need to get in three haircuts before you leave town for your vacation.  And you’ll need to have two appointments in the same week.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Hey, I’m a hairstylist, not a vacation planner. How about a little color for that gray?”

“If you touch up my hair right before I leave, everyone will notice. And if you don’t touch up my hair, it will look like I aged 50 years—which I did, of course.  I just don’t want to make it that obvious.”

I hated to admit to my wife that I was so vain, but I wondered if she had ever thought about stuff like this, herself. She’s having a big get-together with her college friends sometime next year.  “Mary Ellen, are you planning your hair salon visits so they time out right for your 40^th reunion?”

“Of course.  I started scheduling appointments way in advance to make sure I could see Jenna about  six days before the dinner. Now she plans to get married the very week of my make-over. She returns from her honeymoon the day before I leave.  Who goes to a reunion with a 24-hour-old haircut?”

Did any of my male friends think about stuff like this? I called Bob to see if he could relate to this situation.

“Why are you asking me about this, Dick?”

“Because, Bob, you have held many high-power executive positions, oftentimes addressing huge audiences—so you had to look your best on those days. Why wouldn’t I ask you?”

“Because I am completely bald, that’s why.”

I’ve decided not to worry about this anymore. Only a narcissistic person would think he had to get a haircut exactly 10 days before leaving for a trip. Not only that, but I’ll be busy that week getting botox injections.

RUG RAT

We’ve always been envious of friends who have done it in every room of their house. So, we finally decided it was now or never: we were going to re-carpet our entire home. We had successfully avoided this huge hassle in the past by moving just as the carpet had worn out our welcome. Early in our relationship, we once moved when the fridge needed to be defrosted. We just couldn’t be bothered.

We knew our carpet was dirty and disgusting when we started wiping our feet before going outside. Also, when friends came over for a cocktail, we told everyone it was a shag carpet. It really wasn’t. It just looked that way because we’ve had dogs and cats for 32 years. Sometimes I walked out of my bathroom while brushing my teeth in order to watch TV in my home office. There were a few toothpaste globs on the floor. I scraped them up now and then. They looked a lot like dinner mints.

In preparation for this big move (of course, we were not moving but we might as well have been), I bought a book called: The Complete Carpet Buying Guide, by Alan Fletcher. The book is wall-to-wall with great ideas. Mary Ellen kept telling me to put the book down and go to bed. “Just a few more pages,” I pleaded.  I still hadn’t gotten to chapter six: Making it all work in the bedroom.

Once we made the decision to go ahead with the project, I stood at the bottom of the stairs and scanned the house. The immensity of the task overwhelmed me. I wondered if we really had to do the first and second floor at the same time.

“Two stories in one day is a lot to cover, Mary Ellen.”

“Isn’t that the attitude that got you demoted at Channel 8?”

When it was time to pick the color, Mary Ellen pretended she wanted my input so she flung some carpet samples on the floor. “Help me decide between the bistro, buff, desert sun, kangaroo, ecru, fallow, fawn, russet, sepia, moose antler, tawny, sienna and Sahara. I want something that won’t stain when you walk into the living room eating your breakfast cereal.”

“Do they have something in a nice Wheaties shade?”

“Dick, this is hard work. Which color do you like?”

“Okay, beige,”

“They’re all beige.”

“See, that’s what made it so tough. Time for a beer.”

Before they could install the carpet, this guy named Luke came to measure each room. He strolled through the house, scanning the walls and floors to get the dimensions with this really cool laser device. I asked him how many people called him Luke Floorwalker, and he said I was the first. That day. 

Because I am cheap, I was looking for ways to cut corners. (Actually, the carpet installers do that for you at no extra charge.) The idea I came up with was to take the dozens of carpet samples we had and use them to create a patchwork of colors that would cover one entire room. Mary Ellen said that was the stupidest idea I ever had in our entire relationship. She’s so young to be losing her memory.

MY ONE NIGHT STAND

BEDSIDE MANNERS

This is an article about my one night stand. No, I didn’t have a one night stand. I bought one. (I’m making this worse, aren’t I?)  Let me try this: I purchased one night stand at a local mega-hardware store.  It was packaged in several parts, but the box said, “Assembly Very Easy.” I was suspicious. That was exactly what my third grade teacher said before she made me sing in front of the entire student body at Roosevelt Elementary School.  I remember swearing that was the last assembly I’d ever do.

Of course, I have broken that pledge a couple of times already.  About two years ago, I tried to put a wall unit together, but I stressed out when the shelves didn’t fit properly.  I walked away frustrated, but the cat liked what she saw. We now have the world’s most expensive kitty litter box.

Overall, this should have been an easy task. Every piece in the kit was assigned a letter. All the grooves were numbered and there was an actual picture of all six kinds of screws and four types of nails. I once saw a guy on YouTube complete the Rubik’s Cube blindfolded using only his feet. Some guys get all the easy gigs.

The first problem was that the directions were in three languages: English, Spanish and French. This was an immediate distraction to me because the phrase “Avec precaution, retourner l’element sur ses chants avant,” sounds a lot saucier than “Carefully turn your unit over and onto its front edges.” The second problem was that I’m not good with tools. Like, the directions said I needed a Phillips screwdriver. That would be equal parts vodka, orange juice and Milk of Magnesia, right?

I was relieved to find there was a hotline number—answered, I am sure, by the very same kind of people who respond to those life and death turkey questions on Thanksgiving morning. One year, I abused that phone number after downing a couple of wine coolers.  I called to ask if I could take a frozen turkey in the sauna with me to defrost it. It’s hard to make those folks laugh. By the way, this furniture manufacturer only answers the phone between 8 a.m. and midnight, so by 7:59 in the morning the lines start lighting up with frustrated customers like me who were up all night wondering who Allen is and where he put his stupid wrench.  

One of the things they instruct the buyer to do is register the product. I’ll register to vote; I’m happy to show a police officer my registration; and I’m never shy about registering my opinion.  But I will not register my night stand.  I have my rights. If they want their night table back they’ll have to pry it away from my cold dead hands.

Once the bedside table was completely assembled, I was pretty happy with myself, although it did take me four hours and three phone calls to complete my task. I must admit, however, that I am not totally confident I got it to look 100 percent like the photo on the box.  But Mary Ellen must have been impressed when she got home.  She thought it was the biggest birdhouse she had ever seen.

QUESTIONING DENTISTRY

QUESTIONING DENTISTRY

Most people have their teeth cleaned and examined twice a year. That was pretty much my routine, but then my dentist started scheduling me for quarterly appointments. I asked him why, and he said that patients with deep pockets need to come in four times a year. What an idiot I am.  I thought he was talking about my gums.

Before my last appointment, the receptionist asked me to fill out a new form so they could update my medical and personal information. There were 50 statements and I was asked to indicate those that addressed a dental concern I had. I checked off all of them because I have found  that with my regular physician,  the more things he thinks I suffer from, the easier it is to get an appointment when I’m really sick.

In addition, I always put in snide comments next to the questions. That’s why the staff doesn’t keep me in the waiting room too long with a writing instrument in my hand. They’re afraid I might talk about my visit in my newspaper column…which is exactly what I have done here. These are actual statements from the dental questionnaire:

_X___I have cavities and broken fillings

          I have no idea if I do. Isn’t it your job to know this?  Hey, I don’t have a shiny metal instrument with a tiny mirror on the end of it.

__X__I have missing teeth

         I do. And my wallet has also disappeared. I’m calling my brother. I was at his house last weekend.

__X__ My teeth are moving

          And I’m going with them. Do you know a good dentist in Boca I can recommend to them?

__X__I trap food between my teeth

          Yes, and I’m pretty good at it. I’m also a helluva fisherman.

_X___ I snore when I sleep at night

           Oh, yes. A dozen people told tell me that last week.

__X__I have bad breath

          A dozen people have also told me that. Not the same people.

__X__I need help flossing

           I could use some assistance.  But be sure that Cyndi the hygienist is over no later than midnight. I fall asleep after Letterman’s monologue.

__X__ My mouth is dry

               I’ll have a Bud. I hate your coffee machine. Thanks for asking.

__X__I don’t like the shape of my teeth

            What are my options here? Is octagon available? I’m very New Age.

__X___I am experiencing recession

            Yes, but I don’t totally blame Obama for this. Some of mine started during the Bush years.

__X__I need information on how to prevent cavities

           Yes, I’m a total moron. Is daily exercise the key?  How about cutting back on fuel consumption. Give me a hint, please.

__X___I often wake up during the night

              Yes, and two minutes later I’m back in bed. Mission accomplished. Trust me; this has nothing to do with my teeth.

__X___ My teeth seem short

            They reach my food. The bottoms and the tops can touch. I don’t think it’s fair to expect much more than that from my teeth when it comes to length.

__X__My teeth don’t fit together

             Okay, it’s not a perfect fit.  But besides the two wisdom teeth you yanked out, we’ve all been hanging out since the Eisenhower administration.

                        

__X___I have one of the following: Obesity, Diabetes, Hypertension, Stroke, Heart Disease, Erectile Dysfunction

               Okay, if I have to pick just one, I’ll say hypertension. But I have to ask, what do teeth have to do with…never mind.

__X__ I keep breaking my teeth

             Yes, and it’s a terrible habit. Mary Ellen has to hide the hammer.

__X__ My teeth are sensitive to stress

             That’s why this is the last question I’m answering.

            

          

           

WHEN I'M 65

I hadn’t been to one of my high school reunions in 35 years. I went to the 10^th reunion because I was still single and figured this was a chance to see the first love of my life again. Phoebe and I never went out. I’m not even sure if she knew my name, but I remember how quiet and innocent she was. It was good to visit with her at the party and I enjoyed seeing photos of her 12-year old son.

I didn’t go to the 25^th reunion because I was sure it would just be a lot of people trying to impress each other with how successful they were and how good they looked. I was not interested in being inundated with that much narcissism, plus the reunion was the same week as my hair transplant procedure.

Not sure why I didn’t go to my 40^th, but based on a DVD someone sent me of the fun everyone had at the open bar, I doubt anyone will remember if they were there.

The 50^th reunion isn’t for a few years, so I was a little surprised when I received a recent phone call. “Dick, this is Nick Carino, president of the Class of ‘65. How have you been these past 37 years?”

“Fine, thanks. ’94 was a bummer, but…what’s up?”

“Well, the committee has come up with an incredible idea. We don’t want to wait until 2015 to get together, because we realized that all of us in the class of ’65 turn 65 this year, so this calls for a special celebration.”

“Wait a second”, I said. “What’s so unique about that?  Didn’t the class of ‘64 turn 64 two years ago? Won’t the class of ‘68 turn 68 at some point?”  There was dead silence. Apparently Nick Carino, a PhD in civil engineering and proud recipient of the National High School Science Award, had not realized this. He continued, “We just think 65 is a special age.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Dick. Maybe because we will all be on Medicare.  We’d like you to do a stand-up comedy bit at the hotel.  The committee suggested a routine about getting older—maybe with some arthritis and gout jokes.  But no type 2 diabetes or heart disease references. Let’s keep it light.”

“You know, Nick, I just don’t think that’s a good idea. Many of us 65-year-olds are still working and are in great shape. And I’ve heard a rumor that a few are still sexually active.”

“None of that is funny, Dick. I thought you were a professional humorist.  Is this the same Dick Wolfsie who wrote on his history final that Joan of Arc went to war while her husband Noah stayed home to patch up his boat?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it. What else do I need to know?”

“The entire event is based on the number 65. We graduated in 65; most of us are 65; we’re going to raffle off a 1965 Mustang, and the first 65 people who show up get a free photo of either David Letterman, David Bowie or Ted Danson, all 65 years old this year. How cool is that?

“How much will this shindig cost?”

“The hotel gave us a great deal: dinner and drinks for $64.95.”

“Why don’t you make it 65 dollars to keep with the theme?”

“Never dawned on me.  I’ll run it by the committee. By the way, Dick, I’ll be in Chicago for work next week. I could drive down to Indy if you’re free.  Which interstate is it?

“Oh, Nick. I’m about to make your day.