I had my blood tested a few months ago, you know, just to make sure I had enough.  It was a routine test; nothing to worry about.  I got a phone call from my doctor's office when the results came in, and I was told a few of the numbers from the test (3 pints of blood, running low, could use new front tires, etc.).  I wanted to get a copy of the test results because I like to keep track of those sorts of things, but I kept forgetting to stop by my doctor's office, and of course they can't be mailed or faxed because that would make the world stop turning.  This past Monday was one of my many days off work, so I finally went to my doctor.  In the past, I've talked to the receptionist and simply asked for a copy of the results, seeing as how I'm not asking for an explanation or an interpretation.  This time was no different, but the receptionist said she had to ask the doctor to make sure I could have a copy of the results.  This sounded odd, since, you know, it's my blood, but hey I let it slide.  She came back in the room and told me I'd need to see the doctor in order to get the results. 

Before I continue, let me elaborate on my hatred of doctors.  No other profession gets paid a ridiculous amount of money to tell people what they already know.  If I went out on the street and told random people they needed to diet and exercise in order to lower their cholesterol, I would get punched in the face.  But if I put on a white frock and hung a stethoscope around my neck, suddenly I would be paid for this information.  You see, the internet has made doctors pretty much useless.  And they know this, which is why they wield their fascist-esque control of prescription-writing like a secret weapon.  It's all they've got left.  Wikipedia can diagnose pretty much any medical problem you can throw at it, but doctors are the only ones who can give you pills to fix it.  But in order to see a doctor, you have to make an appointment.  And like any service industry, the medical industry only fits into the schedules of the unemployed.  And then there's the waiting room, filled with contagious sick people and crying babies.  And then there's the private doctor-to-patient room, where more waiting occurs, this time while seated on a bench covered with deli paper.  Honestly I don't know why we make appointments in the first place if we know there's a 100% chance we'll end up waiting anyway.  The waiting is followed by uncomfortable questions, groping and prodding, and unnecessarily complicated medical terms ("It appears you have a medial-lateral cranial aberration causing malaise and incommodiousness," i.e. you have a headache), after which we're left alone in the small room while we try to reassemble ourselves and make it look like we weren't just assaulted.  This of course is followed by payment at the front desk, as if we should pay for the convenience and pleasure of visiting a doctor.  My particular type of insurance requires payment each time I see a doctor, whether or not he/she tells me anything useful, and regardless of how long that meeting takes, whether it's an hour or a minute. 

So I was a little pissed.  Pissed like I could've punched my fist through the bulletproof glass that separated me from the receptionist.  Pissed like I couldn't even speak.  I couldn't even form the words I was trying to say to convey how I was feeling.  So I walked out of the building and drove away, listening to loud music to lower my heart rate.  Wendy was with me, and as soon as we got home, she took over.  She called the blood testing facility and simply asked them to mail us the results.  They said ok.  No problem.  No charge.  No questions.  That's it.  It's your blood.  Here are your results.  Finito. 

I got the results in the mail yesterday, and I have to say, I don't think there's a better feeling than going over someone's head to get what you want. #health