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Saturday, June 22, 2024

Boo-Boo Bunny can't fix rabies accusation

Going to the doctor's office is bad for my health. I went to my 8:45 a.m. appointment Wednesday morning, only to find that the office was closed until 9. As I sat on the cold cement waiting for the doors to open, I could feel my cold worsen, my blood pressure rise and a severe case of spontaneous dental hydroplosion develop.  


I know other people have problems with the doctor, but mine have always been exceptional. Up until this summer, I had a medical condition where I had to receive monthly injections of bicillin. And every month I became more and more disgusted with the process.  


Often these visits would leave me feeling paranoid. Since I had been receiving these injections since I was 8 years old, I was still considered a pediatrics patient at 20. No one can feel comfortable in those barely there gowns, but it's even worse when a Barney the dinosaur doll is watching the whole process and staring at you with that smug smile.  


Sometimes I would leave the office feeling depressed. It really wasn't my fault that I couldn't fit my 5'9\ frame on the 4' table, but I really felt bad about crushing their tiny chairs. And the Boo-Boo Bunny they gave me to hold while getting the shot doesn't really have the same effect after 12 years. I didn't even get a sucker at the end, although the Barbie Band-Aid did make me feel better. 


I thought it would get better when I started college. I still had to get the injections, but at least I would be using an adult-size table, and there wouldn't be any peeping Barneys around.  


And it was better, until I contracted rabies. Without fail, every month for the past two years, I walked up to the same receptionist with the same blank stare on her face. She would ask what my appointment was for and - bracing myself - I would answer, ""Just a bicillin injection."" And every month she would scream, ""OH MY GOD, DO YOU HAVE RABIES?!""  


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The first time, I freaked out, wondering how I had missed a bat or a wolf gnawing on me with foam gushing everywhere. But no, she simply never remembered that bicillin injections treat rabies and about a million other conditions. Clearly, screaming that someone has rabies to a room full of college kids was an intelligent and professional thing to do.  


So each month I tried to explain the situation as my peers ran away in fear, but she was already calling the doctor for my ""emergency appointment.""  

But those days were over. Now that I was 21 and out of the dorms, my doctor had decided I no longer needed the injections. This appointment was just for a cold that hadn't been going away. 


Finally, someone unlocked the doors, and I climbed upstairs to the waiting room. There was no receptionist, just a computer check-in. It wasn't very welcoming, but at least it wasn't going to scream and send all the other patients running for their lives. This time was going to be different. 


I went into one of the rooms, and an incredibly attractive male nurse took my vitals. He could have taken my number, too, but I thought that was too forward for our first appointment.  


My own personal McDreamy called in the doctor. She looked over my file and then looked at me with a puzzled expression. My stomach sank as I saw her scan my chart full of injection records. ""OH MY GOD, DID YOU HAVE RABIES?!"" she screamed. I tried to explain, but she was already out the door.  


If you have ever had a bad experience with a doctor, rabies or know what a Boo-Boo Bunny is, e-mail Megan at 




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