2009-07-04
When it comes to the problem
of health-care costs, I don't know why everyone
doesn't just do what I do, which is to have a
sister who is a doctor.
As a result of my brilliant
program, not only are my patient costs lower
than the national average, but I am also the
beneficiary of new, cutting-edge medical
treatments, many of which I've made up myself.
By calling my sister and teaching her my
intelligent health-care theories ("interactive
medicine"), I not only promote my own wellness,
I can also, through my sister, give back to the
patient community, sharing with them advanced
medical practices such as my Beer-and-Pizza
Diet.
It came to me rather
suddenly, though it's been right there in front
of me for a long time: When I was in college, I
ate almost nothing but beer and pizza, and I was
so skinny that when I crossed my legs I gave
myself a paper cut.
I told my sister about this
astonishing scientific study, and she patiently
explained that I should stop calling her. "You
were 20 years old! That was 10 years ago!" she
raved in a most unprofessional manner.
(In the interest of fair
reporting, I will note that she didn't actually
say "10 years ago." She used a different number,
but I changed it because I found it
scientifically upsetting.)
I didn't want to insult my
sister, so I suggested that she probably was
just a bad doctor. I did go on the (pat.
pending) Beer-and-Pizza Diet — though not
exclusively, because nowadays I can also afford
ice cream. And I did lose weight, as evidenced
by a new bathroom scale that I purchased to
prove my theory and probably earn an honorary
medical degree from Yale.
"Five pounds in just a week,"
I told her. "Do you have any other medical
questions I can help you with?"
She made her voice sound all
doctor-like and apprehensive, telling me that
unexplained weight loss is a reason to be happy.
(She didn't say "happy," she
said "concerned," but I changed it to how I was
really feeling. Such are the wonders of
interactive medicine.)
"It's not unexplained," I
reasoned. "It's from beer and pizza. Oh, and
also nachos."
I told her she should drop by
to see me and bring her doctor bag because I
wanted a nose job. When she arrived, she marched
straight back to my bathroom and stepped on the
scales. "Aha!" she shouted.
"I think the term is actually
'eureka,'" I corrected her.
"This says I've lost 8 pounds
since this morning!" she yelled at me.
"Really? Did you have pizza
for lunch or something?"
She made me come back to
look. "See what happens when I get off the
scales? The starting weight is a negative 8
pounds!" She showed me, and sure enough, the
needle was left of zero by a full eight clicks,
as if the beer and pizza had been consumed by
the scales themselves.
"You do know what this means,
don't you?" my sister asked. (I apologize that
in the interests of fair reporting she comes off
sounding so mean.)
She was not amused when I
posited the very reasonable theory that perhaps
we were looking at proof of anti-gravity.
Instead, she broke the scales so that the needle
aligned with the zero and, when I stepped on
them, I had gained a lot of weight!
(To keep from upsetting you,
I won't reveal the amount of weight gain — let's
just say I was no longer experiencing the
medical condition known as "happy.")
My sister then patiently
talked to me about healthy foods and exercise,
and how I needed to take better care of myself,
making me long for the days when she used to
care about me. She said my so-called metabolism
had slowed somewhat since I was in college five
years ago (she didn't say "five"). This
metabolic slowdown is a medical condition known
as "unfair."
So the upside to my solution
to the health-care situation is that your sister
will provide you with free advice.
The downside? She'll ruin
your bathroom scales.
To write Bruce Cameron, visit his Website at
www.wbrucecameron.com. To find out more about
Bruce Cameron and read features by other
Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists,
visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at
www.creators.com.
COPYRIGHT 2009 CREATORS SYNDICATE INC.
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