Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Not Taking the Piss

Sorry to those who were enjoying The Woodford Files -- and to anyone who wanted to read about letterpress printing! I am determined to blog a bit more on the former and a lot more on the latter ASAP, but first I need to have a whinge.

I have just spent to last two days back in hospital thanks to what was finally diagnosed 'an abnormal period'. Let's just say that my insides have always been abnormal and have recently been rendered more so by the slip of a knife and be done with it. That's not what I am whinging about.

What I am whinging about is fucking ultrasound operators (right terminology? ultrasound administrators? Oh hell, let's not mince words. Let's call them TORTURERS) who think it is acceptable to fill a woman's bladder up with water and then not allow her any relief while making her wait more 45 minutes over the scheduled appointment time. I was in this position, begging for a quick pee (I know how to let a little bit out, I've had plenty of ultrasounds in my abnormal life) while my bladder distended to the point of absolute agony. There is something about being in nothing but undies and a drafty gown and sitting in a wheelchair that strips me of my authoritas, and no matter how I tried to sound angry, it just came out as pathetic. By the time the cunty bugger operator started the session, I was in such pain that the slightest touch of the jelly-covered thingy made me weep. I lay there with tears running down my face, trying not to wish horrible experiences upon him in return. The words 'you can empty your bladder' rang out into an empty room -- I was already there before the 'ooo' of 'you' had left his lips, and I poured enough liquid out of me to replenish the Murray-Darling with ease. AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Seriously, it is one procedure for which no-one should be made to wait. There is a circle in Dante's Hell waiting for anyone who works in radiology who thinks people are just crossing their legs sweetly in waiting rooms. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, as a quick postscript: I have decided that Western medicine sucks, and am putting all my faith in ancient Eastern herbology. My wonderful Aunt, who is a Chinese-medicine healer, has prescribed me herbs which promise to cure incised wounds, gun-shot wounds, and various forms of women's blood problems. In each pack of capsules there is one little blister with a tiny red pellet, which is the special first aid for a gun-shot wound! Auntie has always wanted to be able to break open that pocket and feed it to someone, but no-one has ever come to her with a fresh gun-shot wound, not even in the little red-neck town her clinic is in! I think it's only a matter of time...

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