Filed under: Misc. Humor, shopping | Tags: advertising, anxiety, commercials, doctors, health, medicine
We’ve all heard about how big data algorithms use everything you do to determine what ads you’ll see, from the kind of toothpaste you use to the kind of toothpaste your friends use. The purpose is to drive how you shop, travel and communicate. And yes, I turned off the tracker stuff on my phone.
So, if big data can target so specifically, can someone please explain to me why I have to sit through so many commercials for prescription drugs that don’t apply to me? How have mass communications platforms not embraced these algorithms? I don’t have psoriasis, I don’t have diabetes type 1 or 2, or any kind of cancer (knock on wood).
But here are my real issues with these commercials:
First, they’re depressing and anxiety-inducing, reminding me of all the shitty diseases that I could get, while also preparing me for an amazing list of side effects that I could get from taking these drugs.
Second, these are PRESCRIPTION drugs – who is the target audience? If it is consumers so they can go to their doctor and say, “Hey, ugh, I was watching football last night and saw a commercial for Fuckitol – should I be taking that?” Um…if doctors didn’t originally prescribe these meds, but then are prescribing them because their patients are asking for them, based on a commercial they saw, that is a very large ethical problem. Patients are now marketing to doctors on behalf of the drug industry.
Also, if I was a doctor and doctors are in fact the target audience, I’d be pissed, seeing that stuff on my TV at night. There’s nothing I would want less than to come home from treating people and then be bombarded by commercials telling my patients to ask me about a drug I didn’t prescribe for them on purpose because it isn’t the right fit.
Third, these commercials contain a lot of Doctor-Speak and acronyms like “if your PGFD546 Cells are less than 40,” and other phrases that don’t mean anything to me because I haven’t recently been to an oncologist for that very specific, rare throat cancer they’re talking about. I suppose if you are the target audience you know what these mean, but for the rest of us it’s like being left out of a conversation, and now we have to go back to WebMD to do some research and lose an hour that we’ll never get back.
And finally, who was dumb enough to take a prescription drug they know they are allergic to, so these commercials have to say OUT LOUD, “Do not take Fuckitol if you are allergic to Fuckitol or its ingredients?” These people are the reason we need to stop labeling paint cans with “Do Not Eat.”
Now my fingers are tired, I’m anxious and annoyed. I’m think I’m going to ask my doctor for that Fuckitol prescription I just saw.
I thought you should know that I have a new favorite place to people-watch: the walk-in clinic waiting room.
This is so much better than the airport. People aren’t happy or sad – they’re mostly embarrassed, which is WAY more fun to watch.
When I went in the other day to get my special assistant Prednisone, the waiting room was pretty full, mostly with older people. While I was waiting to go back into the examination room, I got to listen to everyone who came in have to explain why they were there. I don’t know what HIPPA laws cover, but we could all hear everything.
One poor guy about my age shows up and when the intake nurse asks why he’s there, tries to whisper, “I have blood in my stool.” Apparently, she didn’t hear him because a few seconds later he whispered loudly, “I have blood in my stool!” I had to hide a smile. In my house we openly talk about pee and poop and periods and all kinds of bodily functions, because…we’re gross. This poor man was clearly not used to that at all. All I wanted to say was “Dude, we all heard it…we all heard it. Just relax.”
An elderly woman came in with her husband and sat in the row of chairs behind me. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear the anxiety in her voice as she asked her husband or companion a lot of questions. Right before I was called back, I heard her say, “What do you think is happening back there? I see all these people coming in and no one coming out!” Her companion gently reminded her that there is a pandemic going on and that they are trying to limit contact with patients.
I asked myself, why bother? Based on our proximity in the waiting room, I already knew somebody probably has an ulcer and that the lady three seats over has a UTI.
The next guy called up was an 80-year-old man, his hand wrapped in a bloody towel. I turned all the way around, openly gawking. This was going to be good.
“Why are you here, sir?” the nurse asked.
“Well, see, I was in my garage using the power drill and I slipped. It went right through my finger. I just need somebody to look and see if there’s any metal in there.”
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Yeah, it hurts. It hurts a lot.”
“Sir, do you have a hole in your finger?”
“Yeah, but it’ll be all right. My wife said I had to come in and get somebody to check it.”
This, my friends, is what makes the Silent Generation almost as great as the Greatest Generation. I’m not being sarcastic – the man was working with power tools at 80, drilled a hole into his finger and was only at the doctor’s office, not the emergency room, because his wife made him go.
For a moment, I almost got up and left with my little face cut and my vanity, but vanity won. I stayed and, with great humility, shared space with the Clint Eastwood of my town.
Don’t underestimate the power of people watching. I never thought I’d walk out of the doctor’s office that day feeling humble and grateful for my health. Airports are good, too, because people are often at their extremes. You can’t help but feel better about yourself as you smugly sip your nasty Seattle’s Best Coffee and nibble on that $12 bag of Cheeze-Its. People can be fun – sometimes you just have to stop interacting and watch.
I’m in the middle of a break-up. But, like a lot of my break-ups in the past, the guy has no idea we’re calling it quits. But I’m not telling him until I get my stuff back.
“I don’t deserve you.”
Why am I breaking up with him? First, he’s always late.
Always.
I get the late thing once in a while, but every…single…time? The last time we were supposed to see each other, I waited for over an hour. I finally left.
“I really don’t need the two of you in my life – you and your drama.”
Second, he’s pretty bad at communicating. Even the people he hangs out with have a hard time letting people know what’s going on. That’s fine for them, but when it starts affecting my relationship, that’s a problem. Before I left the last time, one of his “friends” told me I wasn’t a good listener.
“You need to be a better one before you can be a two.”
Third, we don’t talk anymore. When we’re together, he spends most of his time staring at his computer. I try to tell him how I feel, but he never seems to have time to listen to it all.
Don’t worry – I’m not breaking up my 25-year marriage. I’m breaking up with my doctor.
I waited too long for too many appointments in a room filled with a blaring TV and geriatrics talking at full volume. The last time I was there, after I’d waited 45 minutes, the receptionist informed me I’d been called ten minutes before, implying I wasn’t listening. She also said there was an emergency, and they had know idea how long I would have to wait. Um, yeah…I left.
“You only love me for my body.”
As for looking at the computer most of the time, that’s fine. Even waiters have iPads now. I’ve got WebMD and I only go into the office when I need a physical or a real diagnosis. What bothers me is that when I get my blood tested for my physical after the meeting with the doctor, I don’t talk to the doctor afterward. I am sent a piece of paper with my blood test results. There are columns with the numerical results of each test, which are meaningless to me because I’M NOT A ADOCTOR; there is also column that has recommendations based on the numbers, but unless I make (and pay for) another appointment, I don’t get to talk in person with my doctor about the results or the recommendations. How do I know he’s looking at everything as a whole, or that he looked at it at all?
So we’re breaking up. My time is just as important as his, and I am more than just an amazing body. I need someone who can meet my physical and emotional needs. If he can’t understand that, well, he’ll never get it.
“Maybe we should take a break.”
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, doctor, doctors, employment, gynecology, health, humor, jobs, manufacturing, medicine, Middle-Age, OBGYN, occupation, occupations, sex, sex toys, subourbonmom
Every once in a while I have a great business idea, and if someone ever acts on them, just throw some of your millions my way to say thanks.
The other day I made my sort-of annual visit to the “girl doctor.” Now, I know that we all have to check our dignity at the door for that particular visit. my way of coping is to stare at the annoyingly cheerful pictures of kittens and tropical beaches taped to the ceiling, willing myself away to my happy place while they do whatever they have to do.
Which brings me to my question about OBGYN visits: With all of our medical knowledge and scientific advancements, why does visiting the OBGYN still have to be so awkward and uncomfortable?
Spas have heated massage tables – why must we lay on a cold, vinyl-covered table in a chilly room wearing a tissue paper “robe?” How about a heated table and some steamy towels instead?
And for that matter, since we end up waiting interminably for the doctor to arrive once we’re scantily clad, why not add cup holders and a minibar so we can relax a little bit? If they can add stirrups, they can add cup holders.
We have medicine to eliminate pain, repair skin and counteract venom. How have we not developed OBGYN instruments and examination rooms to make an awkward situation less…awkward?
So, while I was in the waiting room, I started Googling on my phone. For those of you that know me, this is NEVER A GOOD THING.
I learned that medical instrument sales and manufacturing is an estimated $133 billion industry. The sex toy industry, pre-Fifty Shades of Gray, was about $15 billion, and estimated to reach $52 billion by 2020. So how is it that these two industries have not gotten into bed together and made gynecological instruments that are more comfortable? To me, mating these products should be an obvious business decision.
The main tool that’s used looks (to me) pretty much like a curling iron with a light attached to the end. When I looked at the ones for sale (because for some reason you can just buy these on eBay – exactly who is buying this stuff?), they were all metal or acrylic. Why not make them out of the same latex-free materials that (I hear) are on sex toys? In fact, why stop there? Why not put a heater in there too? Our body temperature is 98.6 degrees – why on earth are we using instruments that feel like an icicle?
If these two industries could just swipe right and meet in the middle, I guaranty women would be more likely to come.
In fact, if all those crazy sex toys ads that clutter up our email are even remotely true, by using their technology OBGYN medical instrument manufacturers could change how women view going to that particular kind of doctor – in fact, they could revolutionize the industry. Preventative OBGYN medicine would become the norm as women no longer dreaded their visits, but actually looked forward to them. Disease rates would decline with early detection. Jobs would be created as new product lines are developed and manufacturing could return to the U.S.
So their you have it folks – how I would bring the “O” (I mean “occupations”, you gutter-minded people) back to the dreaded OBGYN visit.
Subourbon Mom 