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I had a routine checkup today. Nothing dramatic. At the end, my doctor says, “Any changes in bowel habits?” I panic because I never know what counts as a “change,” so I answer with full chaotic honesty:
“Well… sometimes it’s like horse speed, sometimes like sloth speed, and once last week it looked like it was trying to spell a letter.”
She stares. I stare. I instantly regret being born.
To make it worse, she starts typing notes, and I can see the screen: “Patient describes bowel movements in… metaphorical terms.”
I try to backtrack, saying I was joking, but she replies, “We encourage patients to speak openly.” Ma’am I was speaking TOO openly. I was practically auditioning for a gastrointestinal slam poem.
At checkout the nurse hands me a pamphlet titled: “Understanding Your Digestive Rhythm.” The receptionist tells me my doctor asked her to “just give him this.”
I didn’t have the courage to explain I’m just an idiot who panicked under small talk pressure.
TL;DR: Doctor asked about bowel changes. I gave creative writing instead of medical information. Now I own a pamphlet I do not deserve.
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