4.06.05: Do the Schiavo! ‹ Blog « Without-Feathers.com

There is nothing more dreadful than imagination without taste.
Goethe

Do the Schiavo!

March 6, 2005

Hey, who knew that Terri Schiavo had a blog? There’s some pretty good commentary there. Turns out we may have underestimated her brain function after all...

No, I’m not laughing. Why would you think that? (Durrrrr.)

But seriously, folks. I’ve been racking my brains for some intelligent comments on the Schiavo case, and, well… let’s just say that my brain can withstand more racking, beatings, red-hot pincers and Iron Maidens than I thought, ‘cuz I got nothing. In fact, after about fifteen minutes of deep thought, I realized I was unconsciously mimicking Ms. Schiavo’s gape-mouthed overbite, so I spent the next fifteen minutes doing the Schiavo Hustle—you know, “DO THE SCHIAVO! Durr durr durr durr dur-dur durr durr durr, durr durr durr durr dur-dur durr durr durr…”

I KNOW. I’M SORRY. IT’S JUST THE WAY I AM.

But SERIOUSLY, folks. Since it’s a good idea to put everything in writing, and since it’s an even better idea to distribute that writing to every single warm body you can (particularly if it’s embarrassing), I’m going to officially state what I want to happen to me if, gawd forbid, I’m ever in a similar position to Ms. Schiavo:

1. Pull the plug. No, seriously, take a hammer to the life-support machine. Or you can just wait until the insurance runs out (approx 2.7 hours) and let the doctors do the hammer thing. BUT…

2. Make sure I’m really-truly beyond hope by running some simple tests. Tickle my feet and see if I giggle. Scream “OH MY GOD!” and see if I jump. Open a bottle of Jones Soda (Sugar-Free Black Cherry, please) and see if I try to grab the cap out of your hand to read the fortune.

3. If none of the tests work, go ahead and kick my bucket. Memorialize me by writing flippant blog entries about my demise. And then cremate my corpse and sprinkle it on the sidewalk in winter.

Speaking of imminent death and destruction, I went to the dentist yesterday and found out I have a teensy little cavity—my very-first-ever cavity, somewhere in Occular 31 (don’t ask). Please join me in a moment of silence for the loss of my dental health.

[pause]

Thank you. And on with the entry!

I have never been afraid to visit the dentist, not ever, not even when I was a little kid and I had to go in every few weeks so they could poke needles in my gums and grind at my front tooth with saws. But this new dentist—this guy is like the Dr. House of dentists. Seriously. Every time I see him, he’s in a foul mood—which may say something about me as a patient, but whatever.

House, DDS: Hi. I’m Dr. House. What’s the problem?
Romy: I have a toothache, and my teeth feel kind of loose.
House, DDS: Loose? They don’t seem loose. [grabs my front teeth and yanks them vigorously back and forth] It’s all in your head, you moron. What else?
Romy: [teeth wobbling precariously] Um… toothache?
House, DDS: There is no toothache.
Romy: Yes there is.
House, DDS: No there isn’t.
Romy: Yes, there is.
House, DDS: Nothing showed up on the X-rays.
Romy: I know there’s no visible cause, but it hurts like a—
House, DDS: A root canal would stop the ache. You want a root canal, you goddamn whiner?
Romy: Geez, it’s not that bad.
House, DDS: You’re getting a root canal, and I’m getting a new Ferrari! Hey, hygienist, schedule her for—
Romy: DUDE, I SAID NO.
House, DDS: Whatever, bitch. Get her outta here.

Okay, so maybe that was a teensy bit exaggerated. But check out this scene from my last visit, which is not at all exaggerated, I swear:

House, DDS: [poking around Romy’s mouth with dental tools] Aha, here’s a little cavity! You’ll want to have that filled.
Romy: Are you sure it’s large enough to fill? Because the hygienist was just telling me that some cavities are too small—
House, DDS: No, we can’t fill it right now. I have other appointments; we need the chair. [leaves]
Romy: o__0

SERIOUSLY. The only reason the fictional Dr. House keeps his job is because he makes up for his attitude by being damn good at making patients better. I’m hoping this dentist is similarly gifted, because if I find out he’s got a bad attitude and no dental skills, I might just lose my temper. Which wouldn’t be good, because this is the only nearby clinic that takes my insurance. Bugger.

Before I go, I’ll leave you with this link I found: The Prairie Muffin Manifesto. Go. Read. Laugh. Cry. RUN.