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Welcome to The Crazy World Of Writers, a place where anything is possible and nothing is impossible.
A Crazy Poet Goes To Hospital
In this life of ours it is highly likely that most of us will have to visit a hospital for some reason.
Whether it is to visit a sick friend or relative or perhaps you will be in need of treatment yourself, I am sure that sometime you will be there.
I know that you know where this article is going so I will get straight to the story...................................................................................................
Sitting reading last years 'readers digest' in the hospital waiting room I could not help noticing the other people who were also waiting.
I causually glanced up every now and then to look at the other people in the room, trying to get some idea as to what they were here for.
"Hey! that is what we all do in waiting rooms OK!."
Anyway, over the public address system a muffled voice called out someone's name.
We (the patients) all looked at each other shrugging shoulders as we did so, in an attempt to communicate without actually talking to each other.
This was probably because deep down inside each and every one of us there is a little voice telling us that the person we are sitting next to is here to get treatment for some sort of virus that can be spread by means of talking to someone who is within the 'Talking Distance Zone'.
This 'Zone' is about two and a half meters in diameter unless the speaker is loud mouthed, in the event of this being the case the distance is then increased to four and a half meters.
A nurse came into the room and said, "John Mcleod."
I stood up, noticing as I did that all eyes were fixed on me.
I followed the nurse who must of assumed that I was well as she walked with a speed that was hard to keep up with.
When the marathon came to an end I was ushered into a small room where a friendly consultant was waiting to see me.
"So what can I do for you Mr Mcleod?" said the consultant in a voice that should of sounded kind but never, it sounded more like a (let me in on the secret as to why you are here) voice.
I started to feel a bit frightened because if this chap does not know why I am here and I have to tell him, then I could be in deep trouble for if my diagnosis is wrong then I could end up getting treatment or even worse surgery to mend something that is fine anyway.
Despite these underlying fears I let him in on what was wrong with me, hoping that I was right.
"OK" Mr Mcleod said the consultant "we will have to take a little blood sample to confirm our suspicions."
Now I am not sure about any of you but I have no problem giving blood as long as there is enough left inside me to keep me ticking over.
"Right then Mr Mcleod you will just feel a slight sting when the needle goes in, nothing to worry about."
He produced the needle which seemed extremely long for the reason it was needed and I immediately pointed this out to him.
He ignored my examination of the needle and continued to insert it into my now reluctant vein.
He seemed to be having some trouble removing the blood so I said to him, "I take it you have done this before?"
"Oh many times, many times" said the consultant who was now in the process of finding another suitable vein.
As he leaned over me I quickly scanned the top of his head making sure the number 666 was not tattooed there as I felt he was now enjoying the discomforting attention he was giving my arm.
At last blood was extracted and stored in a small test-tube which was labeled with my name on it.
I was informed there and then that the blood that was taken would be sent to the labs for examination and the results would come back a week later.
At this I said "A week! what if I am dead by then?"
"I can assure you Mr Mcleod you will not be dead by next week OK."
"How can you be sure about that?" I replied.
"Mr Mcleod" said the consultant, "I have worked for many years at this hospital and have seen many patients, if I say you will not be dead by next week then you will not be dead."
"What if I get knocked down by a bus? if that happens I may die not knowing what it was that I had that might of killed me."
"You are just being ridiculous Mr Mcleod, no matter what you say today, I will still not have the results until next week."
Resigned to the fact that I may be a walking time bomb waiting to go off at any moment I left the hospital.
Things had changed, I must make sure I stay alive until next week.
Normal tasks were now dangerous missions where extreme caution was needed.......................................................................................................
The traffic lights did not seem to want to change, I was standing there watching the traffic roar past waiting for the green man to flash so that I could cross the road.
Normally I would just go ahead and run across, but today, well you know...
I decided I was being silly and threw caution to the wind and made my dash to the center of the road.
As I stood there I noticed a huge lorry approaching which was quite wide, I knew there would not be enough room for it and me on the road, I turned round and quickly ran back to the pavement.
When I got back to the pavement I realized that the traffic had stopped.
I glanced up and saw that the green man was flashing at last.
I remember thinking to myself that if I stayed where I was in the center of the road then I would be across by now.
After this brief thought I started to cross the road only to be met by blaring horns and shouted abuse.
Yes you have got it, by the time I had got back to where I was when I noticed the green man was flashing, and had my brief thought, the traffic control system had changed again.
The whole week was like this, and I can tell you it was an agonizing wait.
After all that I had went through during the week I am sure you can imagine my reaction when I returned to the hospital and spoke to the consultant, who informed me that I never had anything at all and it was just some stupid bug that was going around.
I said "What do you mean I have got nothing wrong with me, I must have as I have this pain in my back."
The consultant told me that 'I was starting to be a pain in the neck', he also said that I was like a humph.
I said to him "What do you mean I am like a humph."
He replied "Recently you have always been on my back."
I then made some sort of comment about how it is people like me who pay his wages through the taxes we pay and it is terrible when someone visits a hospital, has blood tests done, only to be told there is nothing wrong with them.
What is the world comming to?
John Mcleod
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