Adults Only

Today I had the unique, some might say joyous (well, I wouldn’t say it- I didn’t exactly hire a choir to sing praises to the heavens or anything) experience of visiting a U.K. doctor for the very first time.

I went, not because I had once again managed to slice open a major type appendage with an X-acto knife trying to get pork gristle from between my incisors, but because I wanted to and my wife would divorce me if I didn’t.

While I was waiting in the cold mis-matched furniture museum of old folks with sniffles that they call the ‘Waiting Room’ for my name to be called I thought back (insert the fog of reminiscence) to the very first time I went to a medical type doctor person…

THE SCENE:

Little Wayne.

3 years old.

My older brother, on a dare (my dare unfortunately), gleefully slams the lid of the toy chest at my Aunt Cornillia’s house (yes, that’s her real name.( Sorry, Corny!) (You old bat.)) on my poor tiny and ever so cute pinkie.

*SLAM*

Silence.

If memory serves, at that precise moment, I honestly thought that I had escaped unharmed.

I felt nothing!

Only a tiny tingle!

I was fine!

Then I tried to casually enter the living room in that cool 3 year old swagger way and I found myself sweating and leaning for support against the dishwasher which was only halfway to my destination.

I thought to myself, “Three-year-old-Wayne, something tells me you are an idiot. Call Mommy! Stat!”

Luckily, even at such an early age, I was a master of communication. I was able to relate my plight coherently, succinctly and effectively thusly:

‘WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’

Part of me still wanted to believe that I was OK. That was until my mom took me in her arms and rushed me to the bathroom and tried to rinse the blood off my hand into the sink.

Then there was a *PLOP*. My finger splashed into the basin like a sad guppy who had met the business end of a stiletto heel.

The next thing I remember was some doctor or another wrapping a bandage around my newly stitched up finger and saying something like, “Dumbass. Next time I’m gonna throw yer pinkie in the garbage myself. Dumbass.”

Anyway…where was I?

Oh yeah, this morning I braved the NHS system and I was treated promptly, professionally and friend-nally friendlynally like a human being with feelings.

And I’m OK with that.

(And, no. I’m not going to tell why I went in the first place.)

(No. Really.)

(I’m not.)

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(GEEZ! You’re nosey!)

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11 Comments

  1. Poor pinkie! I hope you get to feeling better soon.

  2. Best regards to pinkie…

    I wasn’t going to touch on this subject, as I would probably rant about right pinkie toe, and the freak accident that caused me to lose it.

    Damn…Oh well, now ya know…

    Seriously, I hope all is well in Wayne Land… 🙂

    How is the flat coming along?

  3. I know why – because you’re getting old and your parts don’t work as well as they used to (no, not THAT part — just generally speaking). I’ve found myself in that boat. And it sucks.

    I used to hate the doctor and would wage battle against him and his nurses every time I was forced to go as a child.

    Ironically, I now take my children to that same doctor. He’s not as bad as I remember him to be.

  4. Yep, we find ourselves going there now too. High blood pressure pill, heartburn pill, check the innards. Aren’t the +40’s fun?

    Just glad it wasn’t the winkie instead of the pinkie 🙂 My hubby recently had the “scope” for his annual physical… that was a funny day. I got even for a bunch that day 🙂

  5. Dude, where ya at? The blogosphere isn’t the same without ya. 🙂

  6. Yes, I agree with Jefferson.
    Where are you Wayne o Rama? Hope everything is ok.

  7. Perhaps Wayne died from his mystery ailment.

  8. Phil! Shame on you! You have to say three times, “I reject that thought, I reject that thought, I reject that thought!”

  9. CQ, DX, CQ
    Earth calling Wayne. Come in Wayne.
    Earth calling Wayne. Come in Wayne.

  10. Maybe he’s doing a Jett!

  11. Just preparing myself for the worst case scenario.

    My other guess is, he has probably been working non-stop on their new house — painting, pulling up carpet, etc. — which if you never been through this as a married couple, you wouldn’t know the incredible annoyance that builds with each other while you’re doing it (because you hate it so much) — Ruth has probably murdered him.


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