The Funny Doctor
A case for making a killer standup routine required for med school admission.
Getting ready for multiple deep steroid injections near your spine and other nerve-dense, paralysis-risking regions is usually not something to get giddy over. But for me, the day before such a medical treat, I’m like a kid in a candy store. (And it’s 1993, and Warheads are still a thing, and my parents are cool and not “modern” or “healthy” or “into having teeth.”)
I’m happy.
I’m happy not because the treatment will relieve the chronic pain I’ve had for 18 years. It rarely does. I’m happy because my doctor is hilarious. And at around $500 a visit, the one thing the broken American health care system has given me besides crippling debt (and crippling back pain which they’ve been incapable of curing), is the greatest, most expensive stand-up set I’ve ever seen, and can’t wait to see again in 4 to 6 weeks or at my next scheduled follow-up appointment.
Louis CK’s first doctor on his show “Louie” is a delightfully maniacal Ricky Gervais, who frequently reminds Louie that any malady he’s experiencing can simply be attributed to the “collection of broken mashed up organs in a ginger sweaty skin sack” he’s become.
His second doctor in later seasons is less overt, but no less funny, insisting matter-of-factly that Louie’s back pain is a direct result of humans having evolved into bipeds. Want to feel better? Walk on your hands and feet, he says, with zero indication of sarcasm, surprised at how dumb anyone could have been not to have arrived at the same solution.
Entire shows have been dedicated to highlighting the inherent humor in medicine — from the sardonic House to the more happy-go-lucky charm of Scrubs. One of my life goals is to realize a radio show I’ve described as “Car Talk for your body”, or “Loveline but funny”, wherein I myself, an advanced armchair psychologist/hypochondriac, am cohost alongside one of the funniest people I’ve ever met — a doctor (pediatrician, to be exact). Together, we’d take calls from listeners describing their ailments, suggest potential cures (all relating to children’s diseases, naturally), and share belly-laughs over the greatest game of differential diagnosis since, well, every single time I hang out with her and ask whether or not the rash on my ankle has anything to do with the pain in my hip or the night terrors I have every Wednesday.
At the same time, I am continuously amazed at how few doctors of mine have any sense of humor at all. This shock is in large part due to my main frame of reference being the hilarious friends I have in healthcare (selection bias — I only surround myself with people who laugh at my jokes and are painfully less attractive than me), and doctors played by professional comedians who apparently haven’t actually endured the soul-crushing endeavor that is med school, internships, residencies, and whatever the hell else those poor suckers have to go through for countless years before becoming the richest, most respected people on earth. More specifically, good doctors tend to be hyper-intelligent robots who not only never had time to connect to other humans, but also are encouraged not to get emotional or attached to patients because of the extremely high likelihood that they may inadvertently kill you. (I may have terrible doctors.)
As a result, you get unempathetic, analytical conversations and lazy diagnoses within the paltry 10 minutes you’re graced with this person’s presence. And then you’re sent away and forgotten about. And then you hate your doctor.
But not me. I love my doctor. I love my doctor because in the times when I feel most hopeless and vulnerable, he puts me at complete ease. I love my doctor because he understands the human body is perpetually broken, and that we all still survive, and that above all else, a good fart joke is really, really funny.
Dr. Chang is a slight man, born to Chinese immigrants some forty years ago, always impeccably dressed in a suit. When I first met him, he asked me where I was from.
“New York… well, wait, did you mean like ‘from from?’ Because my parents are from Turkey. But like, everyone thinks I’m Jewish, so… that works too.”
Doc: “Oh my god, me toooo! Everyone thinks I’m Jewish!”
A nurse walking by chimes in, “no, YOU think you’re Jewish.”
I laugh, “Oh my god, me toooo!”
It’s a Tuesday afternoon and Dr. Chang and I are at a loss as to why my ankle continues to feel numb.
Me: “Don’t feel too bad. You know that doctor you referred me to? Dr. Cohn? He couldn’t figure it out either.”
Doc: “Who?”
Me: “Dr. Cohn.”
Doc: “I referred you to Dr. Stern! Who did you go to?”
Me: “Oh my god, yes, Dr. Stern! That’s what I meant. I went to Dr. Stern. Wait… who’s Dr. Cohn?… Oh god, he’s my dentist.”
Doc: “…Well, did he have any ideas?”
A few weeks later, I’m finally cleared to get a set of injections. When I get admitted to the procedure room, I see Dr. Chang in scrubs, reviewing what I can only imagine are my recent MRIs on his computer screen. He mouths something to the scan technician, a serious expression rests across both of their faces. Finally, he gets up, at which point I can see his screen.
It’s an anime fan site.
“Oh hey girl! Didn’t see you there. So!… what are we doing here today?”
I get comfortable on the procedure table, which is in and of itself an oxymoron. I lay face down with my back exposed.
Me: “I always feel like I’m about to get a massage when I come here. And then it’s like, always needles. Nothing but needles. You guys are the worst.”
[Dr. Chang has learned to ignore just about everything I say in these situations]
Doc: “Hey girl, listen, thanks for signing up for the online doc chat thing through the hospital. It’ll make getting in touch way easier.”
Scan technician: “Doc chat? What is that, like chat roulette?”
Doc: “Yeah, basically.”
[They have the radio on softly in the background, and “Drunk in Love” starts playing. The scan technician, a heavy set physically imposing man starts humming along]
Scan tech: “God… just one of the greatest songs EVER…”
Me: “She wrote this before Jay Z’s transgression, right?”
Doc: “Uhhh, which one?!?”
[Song ends. Dr. C is midway through my first injection as Heart’s “Barracuda” comes on]
Doc: “Wow, there are some serious female power jams on this playlist — awesome!”
[A few minutes later, he has to inject deeper than where the local anesthesia has reached. I yelp out in pain]
Doc: “Talk to me girl, what’s up?”
Me: “Oh it’s ok, just ignore me.”
Doc: [continues injection] “Wow, did you hear that one pop?? Haaah!” [goes back to singing Pat Benatar softly to himself]
After the cortisone injections, I felt euphoric numbness for a few days, but then shortly thereafter, I was exactly the same. I was in pain. Another disappointment in a sea of many over the last 18 years of seeking a cure.
I immediately signed on to doc chat roulette, and wrote Dr. Chang a note describing my lack of progress, asking if he had any additional theories.
But, of course, in the only language I knew he’d understand:
“…So let me know if you have any other ideas. Oh and here’s a refresher on my general health symptoms, as I think there’s got to be a link here:
- Stressful job (severe unwarranted impostor complex situation)
- Acid reflux disease since I was 20 — taking 20mg of Prilosec daily does the trick, but… wtf?! I was 20!!
- Background anxiety of having no love life to speak of AND I’m only getting older… do I just need anti-anxiety/depression meds?! I think I once saw an infomercial on these helping back pain too. (related: went on Lexapro once about 6 years ago, and it was AWESOME!!, though I don’t remember its effects on my back — I had bigger issues to deal with then.)
- Saw 4 therapists in my life. None helped, except providing great comedy material*.
Hope this helps :) Now fix me.”
*If you enjoyed this, please read a related account of why my therapist’s hilarity inadvertently made me need more therapy.
