Decrepit Old Fool

After two different testing sessions to find out everything possible about my inner ears, I met with the audiologist today.

First, that audiology technician plays fewer and fewer of those musical notes in the headphones every year.  I think she’s trying to psych me out.

Anyway, the audiologist (who seemed uncomfortable telling me this) said that my inner ear appears not to be at the root of my balance problems.  So he has referred me to a neurologist specializing in closed-head injuries.

Closed-head?  Are they trying to say something about my lack of openness to new ideas?  Do I seem intolerant to them?  Hmm…

So as I’m leaving the office, on the wall I see a framed reproduction painting of a hospital operating room.  Several people are crowded around the operating table and there’s all kinds of machines hooked up to the poor schmoe on the table. An elaborate bright light shines on the table. They’re all wearing their caps, gowns, masks, gloves, all that operating-roomy stuff.

In the middle of them all, standing next to the doctor, is Jesus.  You know, the stereotypical white middle-class Jesus with the long hair, beard, and robe?  He’s giving advice to the doctor One of his hands is on the doctor’s forearm, I think.  Everyone including the doctor is looking at Jesus as if he is about to reveal the solution to the case.

His long hair spills down over his shoulders.  He isn’t wearing a mask, surgical gloves, any of that.  He just came in off the street to straighten out the incompetent doctor.

I didn’t catch the title of the painting – most likely it’s “The Great Physician” or something like that.  I’d have titled it, “Hey get this carpenter the hell out of my operating room!!!”