Adding insult to injury

Nothing says "Happy Monday" like a probe down your nose.

Notice I didn't say "up my nose." The fact is, the "up" portion of your nose is just a way station to the long dive into your esophagus. How do I know this? Because bright and early on Monday morning I visited the friendly neighborhood Otolaryngologist who did just that. After asking me a barrage of questions about my sleeping, eating and breathing habits/problems, he used a device that vaguely resembled one of those paint guns used by airbrushed t-shirt vendors in malls across the country, to spray an anesthetic into my nose and down my throat. Small piece of advice? Avoid this process if you can. The anesthetic tastes of concentrated mold and the entire process is like shooting milk out your nose... in reverse. Not cool.

But really, the probe wasn't the worst of it. What really frosted me was that right before he shoved that thing with the articulated tip into one of my few facial orifices, he cocks his head to the right, narrows his eyes ever so slightly and asks, "Did you know your nose is crooked?" WHAT? Is it not enough that you're about to challenge my very strong gag reflex and take an intimate look at my inner workings a la Dennis Quaid in Innerspace? Do you really have to draw attention to a flaw that by your estimation is not only a) totally normal but b) not at ALL related to any of the problems I came to see you for? Really.

Someone needs to work on their bedside manner.