THE SPOTLESS MIND

 

Ira Sharp sits in the exam room, waiting for the doctor to arrive. There is a tap on the door and his primary care physician enters the room.

“Mr. Sharp! It’s good to see you, sir.” Dr. Young extends his hand.

“Oh…hi, doc. I was expecting Dr. Johnson.”

“He retired three years ago, Mr. Sharp. I’m Dr. Horace Young, your PCP.”

“So, old Johnson retired, that son of a gun. Anyway, nice to meet you.”

“Uh…this is the second time I’ve seen you, Mr. Sharp. Let’s see…the last time was six months ago.”

“If you say so. Hey, you know these gowns are a pain in the neck. It’s really hard to tie them in the back. They should have Velcro, know what I mean?”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

“I mean, I can put my underwear on standing up, but I have a heck of a time with these dang ties.”

Dr. Young studies a large, flat-screen monitor. “Let’s see…your lab results all look good, blood pressure is normal. Let me listen to your chest here with my stethoscope.”

“Hey, that thing is cold!”

“Sorry ’bout that.” He completes his examination. “So, Mr. Sharp, what brings you in today? Anything specific you want me to check?”

“Yeah, doc, there is. I want you to give me one of those cognitive exams, you know, like President Trump takes.”

“Oh, really? Why is that, Mr. Sharp?”

“My friends are giving me a hard time, tellin’ me I’m full of you-know-what. I want to take that exam to show them I’m a genius, just like the president.”

“Sir, that’s really not the purpose of a cognitive exam—”

“I know the president took it three times, aced it every time. Do you think I’d have to take it three times, doc?”

“Hmm… have you been having any symptoms, Mr. Sharp? Any memory loss?”

“Will I have to read something when I take the test? I think I left my glasses at home.”

“There up on your forehead, Mr. Sharp.”

“Oh yeah. Thanks, doc.”

“Now, about the test—”

“What test?”

“The cognitive exam you were asking about.”

“Oh, that reminds me. I want you to give me one of those cognitive tests, you know, like President Trump.”

“Oh boy…” Dr. Young sighs, shakes his head, and types a note into the medical record...

Robust, healthy octogenarian presents, requesting a cognitive exam to certify his genius to skeptical friends. This is the third such request I’ve had this week. MACA…Make America Cognitive Again.

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