Recently, I went to a regular doctor instead of a pediatrician for the first time. As you get older, a pediatrician’s office starts to feel weird. I think it’s that bright wallpaper dotted with happy animals and smiling trains. “Do you engage in risky behaviors such as unprotected sex, alcohol abuse or drug use?” the doctor asks as Mr. Chuggles the Choo-Choo peers into my soul with his cartoon eyes. I tell the doctor no. She makes a note. Mr. Chuggles gives me an accusatory look. “I said no!” I shout. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re just a train!” My doctor makes another note. I am sent to the psych ward.
Unfortunately, my experience at the regular doctor was equally as horrifying. I can’t stand those uncomfortable paper gowns, and I always have to get a shot. “It’ll feel just like a mosquito bite,” the nurses tell me. Where do these nurses live? What kind of humongous mutant mosquitoes are they accustomed to? When a mosquito bites you, you slap it. But slap the nurse coming at you with a needle and suddenly everybody’s all, “hey, that’s assault,” and “please leave this office and never come back.”
Thus, I decided never to return to the doctor. I know what you’re thinking — “No, Nora! Think of your health! You’re the smartest, most important person in the world! We need you!” Don’t worry, I know. I’m still going to take care of myself, but with the only thing better than a licensed practitioner: Google. In our modern world, Google can answer any question. “What’s the square root of pi?” you might wonder. 1.77245385091. Thanks, Google. “What’s the capital of Africa?” you ask. Africa is a continent, not a country. You’re an idiot. But Google it, and you’ll get a straightforward answer, minus the insult you so deserve. Google does not judge. Thanks, Google.
The fact that I am still alive and able to write this is undeniable proof that the Google Diagnosis Method works. You simply type in your symptoms and get an answer. The best thing about Google is that we can all share our medical knowledge with each other. Remember, just because someone doesn’t have a medical license doesn’t mean they can’t dispense medical advice! Last week, my boyfriend told me his stomach hurt. In a matter of seconds, Google took me to a website where anyone can give input. One user, SparkleGirl143, shared her story: “Ouch I was sitting here on my couch eating some chicken not even that much and my stomach is hurting. Maybe I’m pregnant idk.” I informed my boyfriend that my research indicated he was probably pregnant. He thought I was joking. “SparkleGirl143 would never make light of this,” I told him. He has not returned my calls in a week. I think he’s struggling to come to terms with the pregnancy.
One morning, I woke up with my own stomach ache, so I Googled it. I clicked on the first result — “18 Reasons Why Your Stomach Hurts.” I read the symptoms of each cause and eliminated ailments one by one until I’d narrowed it down to two possibilities. Either I was suffering from indigestion, or I had a rare disease that would kill me within the week. I hadn’t eaten much, so I ruled out indigestion. Terminal illness it is! I was bummed about my impending death, but I was glad Google gave it to me straight without the paperwork of a doctor’s office. Man, Google is the best. I called my parents to give them the news. Sobbing, they asked how I knew, so I explained to them the details of my Google search. They hung up on me. A moment later, I received a heartfelt text from my mom: “Take some Tums and stop being stupid. See you at Christmas.” I did as she said and my stomach ache went away. I did not have a terminal illness after all! It must have been indigestion. Fantastic news!
Filled with a new appreciation for life, I returned to my computer to search, “How to celebrate when you find out you aren’t going to die next week.” Google, of course, did not let me down.
Nora Walls is a Humor Columnist for The Cavalier Daily.
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