Let's Make a Deal, Revisited

Would you buy a used C-PAP machine from this man?

Please Note: On November 29th, I finally went for the sleep study that Dr. DePalo had been bugging me about. That's what this post was supposed to be about. Somehow I got sidetracked and started writing about our dealmaking instead. Before I knew it I was deep into our dialogue (most of which I made up) and was giggling like a teenage girl on nitrous oxide. Then I realized that I had already posted about our compromise way back on November 18th.
But I liked this post anyway, so here it is (the next post will follow):

I had an appointment with the illustrious Dr. DePalo back in November that turned into a barter session. He had been bugging me for some time to go for a sleep study. He had already established that I had Sleep Apnea and wanted to know how much pressure I would be needing in my C-PAP machine. Only problem was, there was no way I was going to agree to use a C-PAP machine. I had had one in Beth Israel and it was so uncomfortable I insisted that the guys at Columbia Presbyterian take it off the minute I got there. That's when they put me on the respirator. But DePalo kept noodging and kvetching until I realized that this insistence of his might actually work to my advantage. I figured If he wanted something and I wanted something, maybe we could make a deal. So here's pretty much how the conversation went:

Isn't he gorgeous?

DePalo: I want you to go for a sleep study.

Me: No.

D.: I need you to go.
M.: Why?
D.: Because I need to know how much
      pressure you need in your
      C-PAP machine.
M.: But I don't have a C-PAP machine.
D.: We'll get you one.
M.: But I don't want one.
D.: Why not?
M.: 'cause I'm not gonna use it.
D.: Why not?
M.: 'cause I don't wanna.
D.: What are you, twelve?? Okay, look...
      we'll fight about the damn machine later.
M.: Why?
D.: You know, if you ever put this in that stupid blog of yours,
      you're gonna look like a stubborn moron.
M.: Why?
D.: Never mind. Please go for the study. You need it.
M.: Why?
D.: Because the Apnea puts you at a higher risk for a heart attack or stroke.
M.: My heart would never attack me.
D.: Why not?
M.: My heart loves me.
D.: You know, of course, that you're seriously disturbed.
M.: That's because I can't afford my shrink anymore since I started coming here.
      Okay, maybe I'll go...what's in it for me?
D.: A longer, healthier life.
M.: Big deal. What else?
D.: You know...you're a pain in the ass.
M.: But you love me anyway.
D.: What the hell do you want?
M.: A bird.
D.: Oh, jeez; not the damn bird again!
M.: Well?
D.: Will you buy it from a reputable dealer?
M.: Always do.
D.: Take him to a vet and have him checked out?
M.: Done.
D.: Okay.
M.: Okay?
D.: Yes, you lunatic; go get yourself a freakin' bird.
M.: Will you tell my kids that you said it's okay?
D.: Get out of my office, nut-job.
M.: I want it in writing, notarized and in triplicate.
D.: I'm gonna call the cops.
M.: Can I kiss you?
D.: SECURITY!
M.: Bye, Doctor D. You're my favorite doctor in the whole wide world.
D.: That's nice. Before you go, I'm writing you a new prescription.
M.: For what?
D.: A lobotomy.