The other day one of my favorite patients came in. To keep his identity under wraps, I'll just say that he's between the ages of 60 and 100 and we'll call him Mr. P. Wait...no...that's no fun. Let's call him "Master P". Because, well, that's just more enjoyable.
Master P is old school Mooresville. If you don't know what that means, it's pretty much the equivalent of "old school Wentzville" or "old school any-town-in-the-state-of-Kansas". He's your grandpa (if your grandpa is a farmer and has a really southern accent). You see, the fun thing about Master P is that he doesn't just come in for exams. No, no, no...he comes in to share his life. He's like the warm hug that breaks up your day between the drug-infused Medicaid patients (I'm not stereotyping...it's a fact that a lot of NC Medicaid patients are on some kind of drug. Please notice that I didn't say "all NC Medicaid patients are on some kind of drug") and the women from Lake Norman who come in to have something checked out because their hunky personal trainer just pushed them too far. (PS. It is a fact that all LKN women will complain about their tennis elbow far more than a cancer patient will complain about the fact that they have 6 months to live. I honestly have yet to meet a mean cancer patient.)
Okay, sorry...I digress. Back to Master P. So, he'll come in when he's running around town just to say hi. I love that. Does he need anything? Nah...he just says that he likes to see a smiling face (believe it or not, I smile a lot at work...that's probably why I have kind of a stone cold look on my face outside of work; I'm just resting my smile-er for the next time I'm at work). This particular time he came in to discuss something or other about hormone shots that he has to take for a disease he is in the beginning stages of. These aren't manly hormones he's having to endure, though. No...these are the girly kind of hormones and he said something that made me think.
"Well, I'm startin' to grow boobs. Not big ones, of course. My wife just noticed them. Also...I cry all of the time now. Now I know what you women have to deal with. It just comes at the drop of a hat. From a commercial...a commercial!"
FINALLY! A man that understands that the tears can't be helped! How wonderful would it be if every guy you know had to deal with just one day of hormones. Not because of some horrible disease, of course. Just one day where they would watch that Folgers commercial where Peter comes home and they start bawling their eyes out. One day where they feel unbearably bipolar.
Just one day. That's all I'm askin'.