Tommy the Tumor

I just got off the phone with my mother, who recently had a tumor (named Tommy. Tommy the Tumor.) removed from her colon. Since then, she has had the joyous fortune of receiving an abundance of fan letters from all of the doctors that saw her through her medical emergency. The fan letters are all written in mysterious code, an amalgamation of numeric signs and symbols, such as “$4,977.88” and “$929.12” and the most perplexing, “Insurance contribution: $500.00.”

Much research into the perplexing situation uncovered that not only did her fans expect her autograph, they expected it to come on some rather sizable checks. Now I know you’re thinking that after years of forced monetary donations to this company (called “paycheck deductions”); numbering tens of thousands of dollars, what a shame it is that this company has only $500 to donate in return!

Of course, without question, some of these expenses are necessary. Such as the $329.00 charge from the doctor who walked into the room and said, “Tomorrow you will be having a colonoscopy.” After all, without that crucial 2.7 second conversation, my mother would have been shocked when they started shoving that tube up her gastrointestinal tract! Just imagine: There she would have been, sitting in her hospital bed, consuming the hospital delicacies of jello and turkey broth while gaily viewing the finest in hospital television (all one channels), and the next moment, she would have been accosted by men wearing blue sheets wielding large tubes and holding her down! And my poor unsuspecting mother would have shouted in fear, “I know I am in the hospital for acute stomach pain and that you have to explore the stomach area to find the source of the problem, but I never would have expected this colonoscopy! Shouldn’t you have sent a doctor in here yesterday, while I was so drugged from pain medication that anything I was informed of is a fuzzy garbled haze of nothing, to spend 2.7 seconds informing me of today’s procedure? And then charged me $329.00 for that intensive dialogue???”

The biggest shame is that it is my mom who should be profiting from this tumor extraction experience, not the doctors! Here she selflessly put her tumor on display and allowed the doctors high definition uncensored footage for their viewing pleasure! Without tumors like hers, these doctors would be out of a job! They should be paying her! (And Tommy the Tumor should get royalties.)

I can personally attest to the incompetence of these doctors whose services are so outrageously overpriced. The day before my mom’s surgery, one of the many doctors who came in and said something important like “Are you enjoying your tasty magnesium sulfate drink and would you like some enemas for dessert?” assured my mom that her surgery would go well because one of the Head Surgeons was operating on her. Really?? Why on earth would they have a head doctor operate on my mother’s stomach?? Wouldn’t a Stomach Doctor have been better suited to the job?!

–Troi out

*The author of this blog actually likes doctors. All statements in this blog are made for entertainment purposes only and are not to be regarded as opinions of either the author, or anyone else. In fact, the author assures you that she does not believe in opinions and chooses not to have them. While the choice not to have opinions may in itself appear to be an opinion, and in fact is, that is just your opinion, and not the opinion of the author of this blog.


2 Responses

  1. Jen Says:

    Two things: 1) I really don’t like doctors, and I really do think the medical system is based on some weird cosmic dare. 2) I think that your disclaimer may be one of my favorite disclaimers ever written. Probably second to Kevin Smith’s disclaimers at the beginning of Dogma. Gotta love a good disclaimer.

  2. Theron "Oh God" McClure Says:

    Absolutely love it. If you don’t become a comedic writer I will personally hold you down and lick your face like a dog, while we are in the middle of the street so that I can be arrested and you can write about the time that your friend held you down in the street, licking your face like a dog and now is sitting in jail because you refuse to drop the charges.

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