Doctor Curmudgeon® A Modest Proposal
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By Diane Batshaw Eisman, M.D. FAAP Doctor Eisman, is in Family Practice in Aventura, Florida with her partner, Dr. Eugene Eisman, an internist/cardiologist
Doctor Curmudgeon® is so very fortunate. One of her patients is an actor (this term is not gender specific) on a television series.
And, of course with so many areas of great concern at this time…issues of health…politics…economics …the physician’s most important worry as she listens to her patient…has to be: ‘Oh, my goodness, how can television series programming continue? With all the actors and participants wearing masks? Staying a minimum of six feet apart?’ Constantly washing their hands? How can the catering services stay safe? Keep actors, producers, gaffers and everybody safe?’ Yes, of course, that is her greatest worry.
So, as the doctor attempts to determine why the patient has contacted her, he/she continues to ramble on about what the actor perceives as a career problem. She is unable to direct him to talk about his main complaint, ailments nor can she conduct a lucid review of his various organ systems.
The good doctor snorts.
She tends to snort a lot these days.
“Listen Doc,” continues the performer. “You’ve got to come over here and save me.”
More snorting.
Silence.
“Please, I can’t stand this. We’re in the middle of our twentieth season”
“So…” commented the physician.
“You really don’t understand, Doc. We get close to each other.”
More snorts as Doctor Curmudgeon® responds. “Listen up. You can each film separately and then splice the shots together or something. We are surrounded by technology. Your people can work with that. This is not something that I need to be talking about now.”
“Dear, dear doctor, It’s not your fault that you have no understanding of how we film,”
Her snorting now becoming painful, she responds, “I have things to do. Just tell me what you need…medically…that is. Don’t bother me with explanations about how TV filming works. Have you ever noticed that I’m not a showrunner…and never intend to be…?
“And by the way…just wear your damn mask!”
“Doc, listen. You don’t understand. We can shoot for six months at a time!”
On her Telemed screen, Doctor Curmugdeon ® scratches her head and looks quite bored, as her patient continues.
“But, doc. Our showrunner wants things to look the way they used to be and just continue with our story arcs. Just hear what they plan to do to us!”
Wiping anxiety induced sweat from his brow, he continued, “A month before we start to shoot, they’ve got nurses coming to our homes and doing tests for Covid. Then they make us self-isolate for 14 days. At the end of the two weeks, if our tests are negative, a separate limo comes for each of us and we are taken to a penthouse suite with outside pool and exercise room. We’re each in a separate suite and then locked in. When we film, a hazmat suit is placed outside our door and we’re supposed to put it on. When we’re suited up, we take the elevator that is in the suite and walk outside where a limo with our name on a placard waits, and somebody with gloves and masks opens the door and then we can go to the studio where we each go to a separate room and get make up and clothes for the scene…it’s disgusting…I’m calling my agent. It’s not in my contract.”
He contained in obvious anguish, “And then, they keep sticking that thing up our noses to retest us.”
“It’s called a swab.”
“I don’t care what it’s called Doc.”
“What about food?”
“Oh, we just pick up the phone and order what we want and there’s a separate dumb waiter that brings it up.”
“Of course,” commented Doctor Curmudgeon®
“Do you still get your full salary?” queried the small physician. “And is this all paid by the production company? Nothing out of pocket?”
“Yes, yes and yes again.”
“Anything you want to eat? At any time? Day or night? Weekends and Sundays? Do they need any extras? I have experience.”
“Doc, you’re not hearing me….this is a terrible way to live. Get me a medical letter. Do something.”
“Hmmmm…..Let me make sure I understand. You will receive your full salary. You’ll be living in a luxurious suite. In a luxurious hotel. You will have an outdoor swimming pool. You will have your own private exercise room. Anything that you want to eat, you’ll have delivered. You’ll just have to do your job and be driven to and from your work? None of these living expenses will come out of your own pocket.”
“Yeah, that’s about it. It’s awful.”
After picking herself up from the floor and emerging from her fit of laughter…
“Welcome to the Hotel California.”
(DISCLAIMER: It is necessary to remember, at all times that Doctor Curmudgeon® is a satirist and her columns are often simple illustrations of what could be, might have been, will possibly happen, something she dreamt or a light bulb illuminating cloud which wavers above her messy head)
(AND YET ONE MORE DISCLAIMER: This column is not an original idea but was first proposed by Doctor Hero, Doctor Curmudgeon®s husband and partner as a way to continue viewing television programs as they have been in days of yore, maskless!)
(AND A FINAL DISCLOSURE: Hotel California belongs to the Eagles and is not at all, in any way, shape or form original with this writer. Her understanding is that it is a commentary on excesses and Hedonism here)
Doctor Curmudgeon® is Diane Batshaw Eisman, M.D., a physician-satirist. This column originally appeared on SERMO, the leading global social network for doctors.
SERMO www.sermo.com “talk real world medicine”
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