Friday, 4 March 2016

Doctor, doctor...


Words from a Bird.  Day 64.

Yesterday, another trip to the doctors was on the cards.  I'm not saying that I've been down there too many times this year, but yesterday, the lovely Receptionist (with whom I am now on first name terms and who will probably send me a Christmas card this year)  handed me a loyalty card and escorted me to my own chair.  I felt very special....
 
My doctor wasn't available (this is no surprise, as I haven't seen my own doctor since 1997...my last appointment with him was for a pregnancy test which turned out to be a positive for son number 2) so I was booked in to see a relatively new doctor. 
 
'New' doesn't really describe what met me at the consultant room door, as he was wearing short trousers and carrying a satchel.  'Oh, is it 'Bring your Son to Work Day' today?' I asked.  The look he gave me said it all.  Duly humbled, I shuffled into the surgery, and sat down.  He also sat down, adjusting his booster cushion to allow for maximum looking down the nose satisfaction.  'And what seems to be the problem?'  So I gave him a brief outline of my symptoms, and waited for his diagnosis...and waited...
 
'Well what do you think it is?' he asked.... Well, excuse me, but I know I am three times your age, and have attained much life wisdom over these many  years, but I am pretty sure that your seven years at university followed up by many years of continued training at various hospitals would stand you in good stead with regard to telling me WHY MY BLOODY KIDNEY HURTS....
 
This is what I wanted to say.  What came out however, was a rather pathetic 'I don't know....am I going to die?'
 
He then asked me to pop down to the loo to produce a sample.  'Can you do that for me?'  I'm a 52 year old woman for goodness sake, I always need the loo so off I went with my tiny, tiny pot.  Five minutes later, sample in pot, lid screwed on very tightly (I'll have him) I then astonished myself by running the pot under the cold tap, to cool the contents down.  Why was I doing this I hear you ask?  Well, firstly, I wanted the bottle to be clean and tidy when I handed it to him, and secondly I couldn't bear the idea of handing him a warm pot.  I was imagining him taking it off me, and chucking it rapidly from hand to hand, shouting 'Hot potato, hot potato!'
 
Just imagine what would have happened if I hadn't screwed the lid on tightly... A lovely Scottish friend of mine might have describe it as 'A wee disaster'....
 
So I left there none the wiser.  More tablets of course, to complement the smorgasbord which currently sits on my microwave.   
 
If George Darwin was correct in his theory, evolution may eventually sort me out with a screw top head if this goes on much longer...
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