I lost my voice. To a teacher, this is the worse ever occupational hazard. I ended up on medical leave again and again. Today is no exception So, I wrote something. It’s called I Hate Going To The Doctor’s.
I Hate Going To The Doctor’s
I hate going to the doctor’s.
I hate knowing what would happen. The less you know, the better. But I couldn’t just ignore the problem and wish it away.
“I am afraid you have humans.”
I stare at the doctor and his rings shimmer with his barely-contained agitation.
“I am sorry? I have what?”
“Humans. You have a bad infestation. Looks like you have delayed treatment for years now and they are pretty much dug in now, stubborn little parasites they are.”
I freeze at the serious tone, the kind when doctors have Something Bad to say.
“The skin infections. The itch. Human inhabitations. And they multiply rapidly” – a wave of the stethoscope – “How do you feel of late?”
“Awful.”
Everyone I know has pretty much given advice, plenty of it. Some are good. Some are just… bad. Just look at little Mercury. Tiny little thing, but such a big voice. He told me to shake hard to dislodge the humans. I did, but it didn’t work. The critters rebuilt quickly. Venus’s suggestions were pretty much silly. But she’s been the planet of love and squabbles with Mars, her partner, who in turn advised me to wash the humans away.
Even the distant relatives pitched in. Neptune suggested burning the humans off like planetary warts. Pluto brought up the issue of having humans long term. “You are not having an invisible disability,” he said to me once. “You need to get compensation.”
Oh boy, humans. It’s not just the burning sensations, but I swear I couldn’t breathe with their smoke. Some parts of my skin are parched dry. And they keep on growing and growing.
Mama Jupiter only gives me her love. Nobody wants to tell her about the three Great Red Spots on her.
Dr Saturn has his own ideas.
“Meteor therapy.”
The idea chills me to my core. I receive meteors and bam! Everything is destroyed. Then everyone would try to be extra nice and walk around you on tip toe, because you are very very sick and sick people are treated like fragile objects. The recovery progress is long and arduous. I ought to know since I did experience this particular therapy before, when I had dinosaurs.
A Wolf's Tale 
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