Doctor Buttfeel

I had every possible reason not to go to the doctor today. Yes, my knees have been torturing me since my glowing victory on the softball field a few weeks ago. They are all swollen and yell at me when I bend. And I had to have a check-up before he would refill my addictions ... er ... medications. So off I went to see Dr. Butterfield. This is my least favorite day of the year. (And I REALLY hate October 14th.)

I could have stayed home. I could have turned back. There was plenty of opportunities. Like ...

A street sweeper or a sign from God? You decide.

EVERY light was red! An omen of things to come!

Every truck had been called into action. An almost-successful blockade was put in place. I trudged on.

Obstacles were placed along the way ...

Dire warnings of men without knees and elbows waving and holding boxed lunches out to drivers made me want to slow down and accept one ... but I was told to report to the doctor while fasting. He is a very religious man.

I was woozy and not seeing clearly due to my hunger. It was so bad that I began to hallucinate that an orange man next to a stooped over orange gorilla was creeping toward my moving car.

I sped up to get away from them.

Then Tiger Woods showed up to cheer me on so I kept going even faster! That really helped! Thanks, Tiger!

The flora and fauna caught my attention and I was tempted to stop. Fortunately, a sign was posted nearby reminding me of my important mission. Dr. Butterfield was waiting!

The city of Alton sent dancing deer to welcome me! So kind!

And then I got to the doctors office at St. Anthony's Hospital in Alton. And I made a mistake. I called Dr. Butterfield ... Dr. Buttfeel. Oh yes I did. Seriously. The nurses laughed at him. They wiped their eyes. I felt badly. But not badly enough, I guess. Because the doctor hurt me. He stuck needles in me. I watched my life's blood being drained from my body. He told me to tighten the muscle in my upper arm and then he stabbed it with another needle. Yes. He did that. Then he told me it was going to swell up and hurt but that I should be a man and not whimper or cry. He said that if I hurt myself and bleed anytime in the next ten years it won't hurt me for long because he put stuff inside of me to keep my jaw from locking up and other horrible stuff from happening. He gave the nurses dirty looks as if to say, "Don't you dare tell him the truth." I don't really know what was in that needle. My arm hurts. This may be my last blog. Ever.


One nice nurse felt badly for me and she bandaged up one of the holes in my body. This one only hurts a little bit. But I lost a lot of blood through it. It was really hard to text and drive on the way home. I was woozy.

I rewarded myself with liquid heaven. Hit-N-Run Vanilla Coke. I thought about drinking two but thought I felt my throat swelling up and closing off from the fake shot.

That's when I noticed that I had hurt myself. Somehow I had poked a hole in my thumb. Maybe ... maybe the doctor was right. Maybe the shot will make me not lock-up and die. Maybe.

Probably not though. I don't trust Dr. Buttfeel.