Tuesday, 28 June 2011


Doctors, who'd have them, ay?
It's hard enough for us males to gather the wherewithal to visit the bastards. And then as if feeling unwell isn't enough, they question you like they're the Gestapo, and make you feel even more under the weather!!
I went to see a Doctor today, simply to get a prescription for Loperamide, I came out of the surgery battered and exhausted. There's me telling him how good I've been, seriously cutting back on my boozing, and the first thing I want to do when I get out of there is have a fucking drink, a large Jack preferably. And all the time he's tippy tapping on his keyboard and muttering incomprehensibly, occasionally raising his eyebrows. Never a good thing.

I do all the hard work(well, me and Mr Google)I do the diagnosis, all they've got to do is write like a drunkard on their official note paper, and hey presto, drug time.(no chance of a bottle of Merck while you're at it Dr T?)
So I figure after all this interrogation, complete with much huffing and puffing he's got another angle on my problem, so what gives Dr T, what do you think?
"I think you should have an Endoscopy, a camera put up your back passage, and a biopsy, to see if we can find a problem". Fucking great Doll face, no disrespect but having someone shove a camera up my ass isn't at the top of my agenda currently, just give me the Imodium, PLEASE!!!

Again, God was being a wag, I being terminally deaf, and the Quack being Italian and barely capable of speaking the Queen's English. Surely it should be a prerequisite that a Doctor who treats Brits should be able to speak English, and for you guys that train the fuckers, if the medical student still wears a bone through his nose, carries a sheild and spear and calls you "M'bungo" that ain't likely. Go figure......

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