Thursday, March 16, 2006

Doctors

I hate going to the doctors, because I hate being ill. I hate the necessity of having to go. I hate the walk there. I hate the walk back. I hate having to sit in the waiting room clenching my butt as Boss picks his nose and points at people and tells me what they look like.

Woah! articulated truck almost toppled over right outside our house. How cool would that have been.

Anyway, we began the day by beating a path to my GP and sitting in their waiting room which is so small you have keep your knees and elbows squished in. This isn't a problem unless you have a four year old who does circuit-training (nothing beats multi-tasking when you're waiting to see if the men in white coats are ready to abseil in through the windows screaming GO GO GO), standing on peoples' toes, knocking into their bags and trying to sit next to them looking out of the window. There were a fair amount of people, as observed by Boss. The usual crowd - a mixture of young and old, normal and crazy-looking. I always end up sitting next to the crazy-looking guy and if I don't they always manage to sit next to me as I pretend I can't see them and think that arguing with yourself is normal. I think I'm a magnet for society's dregs - it must be my karma or something - I have this knack of accumulating nuts and they follow me around like the end scene of a Benny Hill show.

Well there was a guy, and no joke, he was so huge that he would every right to finish off every sentence with "...puny earthling" with a voice that made Barry White sound like a schoolboy. Enormous doesn't come into it - I have seen oak trees smaller than this man. He looks like someone out of the CIA on a recon mission - and yes he has sunglasses on (hello - take a look outside - either you have serious eye damage which necessitates total black out or you are famous or trying to look as though you are, because it is *raining* and *grey* and how can you see a damn thing with those things on... I'm getting old aren't I... yeah). So they call his name, at least I think they do, the intercom in our GPs is just a phone nailed to the wall and it's really hard to hear anything. Especially if *someone* is making diesel noises. So he gets up after hearing his name, which seems to be "Zorkon" or something like that which means he either comes from Mikon or Vulcan or the planet Plog and I half expect him to walk straight through the wall he looks *that* mean. But instead he walks to the door and again I half expect him to pull out his laser gun, fire at the door handle, boot the door open with his size 270 big, black boots whilst bellowing "Take me to your leader.... puny earthling" or "Give me big tub of white man medicine before I rip out your still beating black heart and make you eat it.... puny earthling!!!" before pointing his AK-47 Soviet assault rifles at the man's head. And who wouldn't like to see *that* happen.... but he didn't do anything remotely Terminator like and we were left with just a few people, one of whom was a boy in school uniform who just sat there quietly with his mum not fidgeting or talking or pacing up and down. Obviously on Ritalin.

Then thank God it was our turn and Boss ran into the office like he was meeting a long lost friend. How are you? How are you today? Well, I'm just fine and dandy thankyoueversomuch for asking Doctor. I just dropped by to see how YOU were. How you keeping? How's the kids, what did you do at the weekend? Isn't it cold for the time of year?

How am I???!! I’m ill! Tell you what, if you look at that really big calculator you got there with my name at the top, you know, the one that if it was in real paper would take up two or three drawers of a filing cabinet you will see it tells you I am ill – I’m cuckoo, ga-ga, nuts, crazy, loopy loo, one bolt short, some wires are wonky, the lights are on the gate is down but the train just ain’t coming, the sparks are misfiring, I’m cracked, gone, coca loca, the craziest insanest citizen of crazyville, *ta da!* That’s me!

How am I?? Please. *roll eyes* Then in the distance I hear my DHs voice calling to me and as I turn my head I can almost see him, just like Obi-Wan (ben) Kenobi talking to a young Skywalker, all fuzzy (he needs a haircut) and I hear the last thing he said to me before he left the house: “Tell her, D… Tell her … Tell her you’re nuts and need stronger medication. TELL HER. AND DON’T COME BACK HERE TIL SHE GIVES YOU STRONGER MED – I MEAN IT! MAKE SURE SHE GIVES YOU SOMETHING - MORE ADs, VALIUM, LITHIUM, ELECTRIC SHOCK TREATMENT – A LABOTOMY – ANYTHING - ANYTHING THAT WILL PUT YOUR WHEELS BACK ON THE TRACK AND STOP YOU TAKING US DOWN WITH YOU!!!”

So I pour my heart out while she oohs and ahs and the short story is she ups my dosage to 20mg escitalopram oxalate and tells me to come back in four weeks time. And here’s guaranteeing that when she sees me again I can pretty much guess her reaction will be “Oh God, you again??! NOW what??!” You wait and see.

Then we goto Tescos, because I love that type of pain, and we buy things I can’t carry: milk, apple juice, more milk, jars of stuff, milk, yoghurts, breeze blocks, milk, loft insulation, iron girders and more milk. I really should go vegan now that I think about it. I wouldn’t get through half as many breeze blocks… I also bought my sons two chocolate eggs each which comes with a cute little egg-cup with a picture of a hen on the front (I wonder how they came up with the idea of a hen – and so life-like too) with a lovely little plastic spoon. I thought I’d give them it to celebrate the start of spring. I haven’t given them it yet. It would be nice to dye some eggs first. DH giving me that look again OK, D, so we’ve done the pagan sun worship solstice, now we’re celebrating EASTER, if I find you butt naked in the garden hugging the trees next week you will be frog-marched for the electric shock treatment, make no mistake about it.

I look for daffodils because the ones in our nature corner are dead, and funk me, there are none to be found. Not one. I mean, hello, it’s SPRING, people. SPRING. No daffodils – what is this – Russia?? Who doesn’t have daffodils??? Who??? You, that’s who! I am irked. I get some over-grown daisies instead which smell nice…

Then we make it to the check-out aisle and I have the same knack with check-out aisles as I do for picking up crazy people – no matter which aisle I pick, it will be the wrong one. Every. Single. Time. You know, you find the aisle that has only one old woman in front of you and she only has one thing in her basket, like a lemon or a pair of stockings, and you bristle with smugness as you look around you and see the twenty foot queues snaking up the booze and bottled-water aisle, until you realise that the woman in front of you is brain dead, deaf, retarded, comprendes non englis, has Alzheimers, is wearing her slippers and has her coat on back-to-front and the items she has are broken/ squished/ have the top missing/ on sale and the sticker doesn’t come off/ on sale and the sale price won’t run through the till/ has no barcode/ doesn’t exist in the till memory/ doesn’t exist/ the item is from another shop/ universe/ she is attempting to pay for her library book and when she finally understands what is going on (or wakes up) she doesn’t understand the question about the store card and has to be asked three times then needs someone to explain what it all means and even then she doesn’t GET it, then she remembers she has vouchers, no wait, that’s denture cream and those vouchers are monopoly money, she still doesn’t understand that they don’t work and even when the man (I say ‘man’ but looks like half man, half Brylcreem monster) takes her “voucher” and pretends they work she insists on paying for her one item with one. Pence. Coins. which have fallen out of her purse and are right at the bottom of her trolley with wheels underneath a mountain of Kleenex and bus tickets and sucky-sweets and knitting, and she scrabbles around until it gets to a point where you are chewing on your fist out of sheer frustration and end up screaming OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD – HERE!! I’LL PAY – WHAT IS IT 18 PENCE??? – TAKE IT – TAKE MY PURSE; TAKE MY BANK CARDS; TAKE MY CAR KEYS – OH WHAT THE HELL: TAKE *ME* JUST HURRY THE HELL UP!!!!!!
And it really doesn’t matter which aisle I pick, whichever one I choose it is like alarms go off somewhere and people come running and brains start exploding and common sense is put on stand-by and we enter a parallel universe where nothing works, or the till melts down, or is struck by lightening, the cashiers change shift and lose their keys or the computers stops working or the drawer jams and they have to get the manager who is really a relief manager and the hair bleach has seeped through her skull and blanched her brain and she doesn’t know where the keys are, how the computer works, who she is, or what to do… then someone DIES in front of you…. You get the picture…

Anyway after three hours of standing in the queue it was my turn, and I try to balance household masonry and milk as Boss decides to break dance and lunge at people whilst making stupid head movements and loud dinosaur/monkey noises as he crashes into other peoples' bags and shopping and shins and toes and their children (in or out of prams) *find my happy place… find my happy place…* and they all pretend that they find this cute instead of annoying, and say things like “Oh he’s so cute and full of energy, ‘ello mate, you bored” instead of “Look, just f*** off and get off our toes” whilst either wanting to either drop kick him or rip his eyeballs out. No? Just me then.

And for that experience I get to pay money.

We make it home and have lunch as Jaws stares adoringly at the PC screen. And here’s why.



He thinks she’s looking at him and he starts coo-ing and giggling and making “sch sch” noises to try to get her to talk back. He’s such a flirt. He doesn't understand why his entire reportoire of acts fails to get her to coo back and he stares and stares a bit unnerved and then starts all over again. He never smiles at me like that. I am beginning to wonder if I should wear a face mask to try to eek some affection out of him. I mean, come on – throw the dog a bone, Jaws – I have brain damage because of you, do you think you could cuddle me once in a while so I can pretend it was all worthwhile??

We read LW&W and that’s it. I run away and hide because I am in a grey-day mood. I think Boss senses when I retreat and goes loopier. Which makes me retreat more and vicious cycle escalates.

Anyway. A day in the life of… nothing creative or fun.






But we have milk.

2 Comments:

At 9:07 pm, Blogger milkmumma said...

milk is good. alhamdulillah.
pills are good.alhamdulillah.


paracetamol, echinacea and lots of sugar pills are good for me today.

and children sleeping.alhamdulillah.

 
At 1:19 am, Blogger merry said...

Gosh, you mean all that stuff happens in other places that Toys R Hell too????

Keep typing angry stuff, lady. It has to be good for you :)

 

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