I had an apt with the Russian Mob

Who just happened to also be a Neruologist :)







Let me back up...







Seriously, I hate doctors offices. I hate the fact that they can keep you waiting for say, 1 hour before you plop your ass on some white paper to... that's right folks... wait some more! Let me just let you sit here reading the most dated issue of People magazine there is and "we'll be with you in a minute." Yeah right, last time a minute took a freaking hour was... hmm... NEVER!







Then I get stuck in the waiting room with this very nice gentleman who just so happens to ask me why I am in a neurology apt when I am so young. Well, kind sir, I am pretty sure you didn't get an MD in the 40 minutes we have been sitting here, but let me tell you. I have been fainting. Ok, nice talking with you. Oh no, oh no, that is not all he wanted to talk about. Greeeat!
"Well, what happens when you have these fainting spells, are you eating enough?"

Um, sir, are you freaking kidding me right now. I am pretty sure I am not sitting in this waiting room for YOUR expert opinion. Luckily, 10 minutes later his name was called and he was along his way, phew!


Seriously, do I have a plaque on my head that says Billy the friendliest patient, please come talk to me, because hey, I've got nothing else better to do with my time. I was really interested in reading how Shiloh was just born. I mean come on! Do people STEAL the new issues of magazines.


Sorry, I digress.


So, I am sitting on the white crinkling paper, with my every move making the loudest sound, when this little man who looks like he just came off the parallel bars from the olympics comes bounding in the room. I really wanted to comment on the dismount, but I held my tongue.


"Ms. (My name here)"

"Dr L, nice to meet you." In the thickest Russian accent you have ever heard in your life. I seriously thought he was going to offer me Borscht any second. You know when Carrie meets the Russian at the red restaurant at midnight and he orders for her. Yeah, think him, with an MD in his name and THEN talk about neurology. Brilliant!!

Then he asks me about my symptoms, blah, blah, blah. He has no idea what is wrong with me, when in the middle of a sentance he says.

"You don't eat enough salt, you like french fry?

"I'm sorry, french fries, do I eat them, um... no I don't eat salt??!?"

"You small girl, most small girl don't eat salt."

"It's not that I don't eat salt for my weight, I just don't like it?"

"Well, you eat salt, and you sleep on 30 degree angle. Ok, now I order test to scan your brain and test your brain waves. Any questions?

"Um... no, I guess?"

"Good, you have good day!!"


Um, alrighty then, Mr Russian Mob Neurologist, I will be sure to eat more salt and sleep at a 30 degree angle. Weeeirrrd! Thank for ordering some test and seeing me for all of 12 seconds, while I sat in your office for my entire life.