The (Little) Clinic
Hi. My name is Jenn, and I married a paranoid hypochondriac. When Jesse was a child, his parents allowed him to watch shows like Rescue 911. He is the last person who needs to watch shows like Rescue 911. Ask him about his paranoia of a shrimp allergy. Or falling into a well. (I never actually watched Rescue 911, but I assume that was an episode.)
This paranoia has not only continued through the years, it’s seeped into other facets of his life. Mainly his health. As soon as he feels a sneeze coming on, he’s pretty sure he has strep throat, bird flu, and malaria. Instead of going to the family doctor, however, he goes to the clinic. Why the clinic? Because it’s convenient. For him.
The clinic is never convenient for me. He chooses to go at the most inopportune times – mostly when I need to be making dinner which is infinitely easier without a toddler clinging to me and begging to be picked up. Granted the clinic’s quick, but what’s not quick is the prescription. As he waits on it, he calls me asking if we need anything from Kroger because he now has 20 minutes to kill. I tell him no, and, because he now has 20 minutes to kill, he proceeds to wander every aisle asking if we need every item he sees – all while Boogs is having a meltdown because he can’t spear his cracker with a fork and also WHERE IS DADA????
The clinic’s also not convenient for me when they take his blood pressure. Remember how I said he goes at the most inopportune times? He likes to wait until he’s stressed the hell out from having smallpox which means his blood pressure is sky high when he gets there, and I then have to hear about said high blood pressure for the next 2 weeks as he regales me with fantasies of going to the doctor to get it checked out, eating better, going back to the clinic to get it checked again. . .I could keep going, but why? We all know none of this is going to happen.
But when the clinic is really inconvenient for me is when the bill comes. As soon as that envelope arrives in the mail, I know we’re about to be overpaying. What would be a $20 copay at the doctor’s office is now a $70 clinic visit. This maybe wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to answer the same “did you pay that clinic bill yet” question 12 times a day like I’m the only one in this house who knows where the checkbook is. But I do.
Despite the many inconveniences of the clinic, I must admit there’s one aspect that’s quite convenient for me – that place shuts down the man flu with the quickness. Jesse firmly believes the clinic instantly cures whatever ails him, and I am not here to argue with that.
Soybeans, Too 