I sat nervously awaiting to hear my name called out, while I sat in the crowded waiting room. For days now, I'd not been feeling well and finally decided that it just might be something I should see the doctor about.
As the time passed slowly, I kept thinking to myself, "What if I've got some incurable disease?" With that thought the feeling of illness intensified as I invisioned the doctor telling me he had some bad news for me. As I sat in my little daze I suddenly heard my name being called. I slowly got up and drug myself across the room with heart pounding, noticing that everyone in the room had their eyes on me. Did I look that bad? This intensified my fears as the nurse shut the door of the waiting room behind me.
The nurse proceeded to take my temp and blood pressure and commented that my temp was slightly elevated as well as my blood pressure and that the doctor would be here to talk to me in a few minutes.
I sat there for what seemed to be hours waiting for the doctor to come in. I could hear my heart racing, my stomach flip flopping and my hands were beginning to sweat immensely. My head began to spin and throb and it felt as if the room was closing in on me when the doctor finally walked into the room.
He sat across from me with his little file ready to jot down all my complaints. I could see it in his eyes that I must have looked just awful but he didn't say a word. He then began to examine me while at the same time asking me what the symptoms were and when they began.
I told him it all began a few days ago when I was reading that the Rams were getting ready for the new season. That the boo birds were out in full force waiting to see Kurt Warner fail, players dropping like flies in the preseason, and what's this about no fullback to block for Marshall Faulk? Pace holding out on us all off season, only winning one game during the preseason and then realizing the Giants game was coming up the following week. I told him it's then when I began to have the heart palpatations, the sweats, the churning stomach and the inability to sleep at night.
He was silent, pushed his stool away and began writing in the file. I couldn't stand the silence and asked him "Well, what is it doc? Am I going to die? Is there something wrong with me or what?"
Still without a word he began to scribble on a prescription pad and handed me the paper looking as if he was going to die laughing. How could someone even think of laughing at a time like this? I was humilated at the fact that he didn't take my symptoms seriously. I grabbed the paper from his hand and began reading it as I walked towards the door.
It read "Patient suffering from Pre-Game Traumatic Stress Syndrome....take two aspirin and call me after the Giants game!" As I shut the door I heard him laughing and telling me "Next time take the blue and gold paint off your face and tongue before coming in!"
