Digestive biscuits
I mentioned that I am going for an operation on a hernia soon and so (because I am over 40) they get you to go along so that they can check you out and establish that the probablility of you expiring on the operating table is acceptable.
There was a small wait required before they started doing things to me. The waiting area of the digestive diseases department was nondescript except for the fact that there was an old man there who could, if he chose, make a living mimicking the noise a water cooler makes when you pour yourself a glass. It was such a perfect imitation that I had to look up several times. I suspect that only flaw in my plan might be that he is probably unable to control it. That big gurgle is the sort of thing you would supress until you'd left a very small room full of people sitting in silence, if you could.
I had and ECG, was weighed, height checked, blood sample taken, blood pressure tested, and questioned thoroughly (one of the questions was: do I have any loose teeth?) I forgot to take a sample with me. My ECG looked nice and regular, I weigh 84kg (13 stone 2), am 180 cm tall, don't know about my blood, I have slightly high blood pressure (148 over 90).
I have probably watched too much ER over the years but I quite fancy the idea of being extremely taken care of; a room of people all looking after moi. (Of the current crop) I reckon I would go with Kovac assisted by Abby, Abby would get the job of telling me how it went afterwards before going for a snog with Kovac in the supplies cupboard. (Poor Kovac, it is always so dark in his apartment, although he does get to drive the best cars). Ideally (although he has been written out after two attempts on his life by wayward helicopters, the second of which was successful) I would also like to be entertained by a Doctor Romano outburst, though preferably not at my expense.
In the afternoon I went to a different hospital’s digestive diseases department, to accompany my dad who was going to learn about the constitution of a biopsy of part of his tummy. The news was good although I can't help thinking that there could have been a better way of delivering it. The fast speaking Indian doctor and the octogenarian from the planet Tharg and me (trying to be helpful):
Doc, "has anyone in your family ever had any diseases affecting their abdomen?"
Dad, "no."
Me," your mother was killed by a massive malignant tumour in her stomach."
Dad, "ah but she's dead."
And so it went on. After a while the doc stared longingly at a half eaten packet of crisps on his desk. He is a digestive diseases specialist working in the department of digestive diseases which is positively plastered with posters advising on what to eat to prevent digestive diseases. The only thing on his desk apart from a tired looking pc screen is a half eaten packet of crisps. It was so conspicuous, all shiny, sitting there scratching its chin, half paying attention, examining its finger nails, thinking; I love my job.
I have no loose teeth by the way (well not in my mouth, I do have the tooth of a wild boar, untethered on a shelf at home, I suppose I could take it along on the day).