the plague and other inconveniences
The icy winds whistled past as I trekked up a dark, secluded path towards the over looming building looking down on me in the darkness. It had been a long journey, and I had came here to seek help. My condition had worsened and I needed to see them. They could cure me of this… plague. That’s what they called it. But as I entered the building I questioned if this was a mistake. The rooms I passed were filled with bodies and an unbearable smell reached my nostrils, reminded me of my last hellish trip here.
Days were bleak and nowadays were filled with worry. Every second that passed meant it was getting steadily worse. But they helped last time and surely could again. I felt my travelling companion squeeze my hand. She had been there for me last time and was going to be there for me again. I squeezed back to show my thanks as we finally approached someone sitting at a desk. Waiting. Waiting for us.
“Hi, Gary has an appointment for some surgery?” said my mother.
So it wasn’t the 14th century, and I wasn’t dying of the black death, or the plague as you may know it. and I certainly did not have any buboes popping up anywhere. Did you know the plague is originally transferred to humans via vomiting fleas? As lovely table manners as my father. Then again what do you expect from a creature that bites rats. That’s the fleas, not my dad. I always remember doing the plague in History and I don’t know why. Maybe it was the only subject we learnt in the short amount of time when the teacher wasn’t pregnant. I also remember the Latin name for the Black Rat clearly. Rattus Rattus. Whoever came up with that should be fired.
But back in the hospital they prepared me for surgery. I was to have an operation to correct something with my eyes that made me go cross eyed constantly. Well I think so… I still don’t actually know what they did… and I never had to wear an eye patch… maybe I was actually being implanted with a mind control chip? But if they did they know what I’m thinking they’ll know I know and they’ll be after me…
Despite the major mind control conspiracy behind the NHS, it was not my first time under the knife. I had already had one operation to correct one eye (or implant something else in my mind), and even more operations and medical care before that. I still don’t think I can list everything that was wrong with me. It could been easier to ask what was right.
Between a birth defect with my heart, a hernia, and I’m sure a bunch of other stuff I was a sort of sickly child and continued on for a while. I missed more school when I was little than I did lectures in my first year at university. Once I was even ill on my birthday, and remember playing with my new fire engine (how cliché) wearing my pyjamas. Even as I grew up I suffered terrible migraines which lead to constant repeat viewings of what I had had for breakfast that morning.
I can’t actually remember most of my time in hospital, mostly because I was so young but there are a couple of things that have stuck. One was me sitting on my bed the morning after my second eye operation and the kid next to me, who seemed to have been there a long time, received a puzzle from his grandmother to do. “Oh she always sends me these,” he grumbled. Yet I never spoke to him once, which I regretted later when I couldn’t figure out how to work the computer game in the kids play area. Yes I have always been obsessed with computer games.
Another memory was when a nurse was asking what I wanted to eat after my first eye operation. She offered me cereal and toast, which I rejected, then came up with the idea of digestives. I remember being so shocked when she asked if I wanted butter on them. No one has butter on digestives! I remember thinking confused. I’ve just had some sort of operation and you’re offering me butter on my digestives! You should be fired!
My final memory was right before I went in for one of my operations. As I lay there, the gave me the anaesthetic. My parents were still in the room at this point, I wasn’t in an operating theatre. It was a room that struck me like a kitchen in a school, with metal cabinets and surfaces, I was surrounded by medical staff and all I can remember is a nurse complimenting my on eyelashes. I mean I’m just about to go through a procedure and she starts hitting on me? The nerve! And for some reason this memory set off my gaydar. Maybe the doctor was gay. I didn’t know a memory could set off your gaydar.
Unfortunately the amount of medicine they pumped in my when I was little seems to have cured me of everything.. Well everything except the common cold. Nothing can cure that. Damn it. And as a result I don’t get any justified days off ever.
And so we come to the end of what seems to be my medical history. Many experts believe viruses, diseases and infections to be ‘poopy heads’ and have set about trying to cure as many of them as possible. But they can’t be all bad as you might be able to use them to get a day off, so try getting a disease today! I recommend rabies. Unless you’re a student. You probably never work anyway. Go to a lecture already, damnit!
(Haha I don't even care if I'm writing crap any more, this is fun!)
Days were bleak and nowadays were filled with worry. Every second that passed meant it was getting steadily worse. But they helped last time and surely could again. I felt my travelling companion squeeze my hand. She had been there for me last time and was going to be there for me again. I squeezed back to show my thanks as we finally approached someone sitting at a desk. Waiting. Waiting for us.
“Hi, Gary has an appointment for some surgery?” said my mother.
So it wasn’t the 14th century, and I wasn’t dying of the black death, or the plague as you may know it. and I certainly did not have any buboes popping up anywhere. Did you know the plague is originally transferred to humans via vomiting fleas? As lovely table manners as my father. Then again what do you expect from a creature that bites rats. That’s the fleas, not my dad. I always remember doing the plague in History and I don’t know why. Maybe it was the only subject we learnt in the short amount of time when the teacher wasn’t pregnant. I also remember the Latin name for the Black Rat clearly. Rattus Rattus. Whoever came up with that should be fired.
But back in the hospital they prepared me for surgery. I was to have an operation to correct something with my eyes that made me go cross eyed constantly. Well I think so… I still don’t actually know what they did… and I never had to wear an eye patch… maybe I was actually being implanted with a mind control chip? But if they did they know what I’m thinking they’ll know I know and they’ll be after me…
Despite the major mind control conspiracy behind the NHS, it was not my first time under the knife. I had already had one operation to correct one eye (or implant something else in my mind), and even more operations and medical care before that. I still don’t think I can list everything that was wrong with me. It could been easier to ask what was right.
Between a birth defect with my heart, a hernia, and I’m sure a bunch of other stuff I was a sort of sickly child and continued on for a while. I missed more school when I was little than I did lectures in my first year at university. Once I was even ill on my birthday, and remember playing with my new fire engine (how cliché) wearing my pyjamas. Even as I grew up I suffered terrible migraines which lead to constant repeat viewings of what I had had for breakfast that morning.
I can’t actually remember most of my time in hospital, mostly because I was so young but there are a couple of things that have stuck. One was me sitting on my bed the morning after my second eye operation and the kid next to me, who seemed to have been there a long time, received a puzzle from his grandmother to do. “Oh she always sends me these,” he grumbled. Yet I never spoke to him once, which I regretted later when I couldn’t figure out how to work the computer game in the kids play area. Yes I have always been obsessed with computer games.
Another memory was when a nurse was asking what I wanted to eat after my first eye operation. She offered me cereal and toast, which I rejected, then came up with the idea of digestives. I remember being so shocked when she asked if I wanted butter on them. No one has butter on digestives! I remember thinking confused. I’ve just had some sort of operation and you’re offering me butter on my digestives! You should be fired!
My final memory was right before I went in for one of my operations. As I lay there, the gave me the anaesthetic. My parents were still in the room at this point, I wasn’t in an operating theatre. It was a room that struck me like a kitchen in a school, with metal cabinets and surfaces, I was surrounded by medical staff and all I can remember is a nurse complimenting my on eyelashes. I mean I’m just about to go through a procedure and she starts hitting on me? The nerve! And for some reason this memory set off my gaydar. Maybe the doctor was gay. I didn’t know a memory could set off your gaydar.
Unfortunately the amount of medicine they pumped in my when I was little seems to have cured me of everything.. Well everything except the common cold. Nothing can cure that. Damn it. And as a result I don’t get any justified days off ever.
And so we come to the end of what seems to be my medical history. Many experts believe viruses, diseases and infections to be ‘poopy heads’ and have set about trying to cure as many of them as possible. But they can’t be all bad as you might be able to use them to get a day off, so try getting a disease today! I recommend rabies. Unless you’re a student. You probably never work anyway. Go to a lecture already, damnit!
(Haha I don't even care if I'm writing crap any more, this is fun!)