Tuesday, 6 October 2009
EMERGENCY! WARD TEN
There will be a day's intermission tomorrow as a trip to the eye surgeongreedybastard dominates the schedule, I think we have discussed the procedure before; it is not actually emergency and is just a diabetes-related maintainance job; if his hand is shaking he can fuck off and go and stab some other bastard in the eye with a hypodermic.
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6 comments:
That's funny...
Best wishes.
Good luck Mr Ishmael.
Someone careless and unsympathetic might say you've only yourself to blame for being a fat bastard. I am not though, so I shan't.
Thanks, both, back now, sore as fuck but sound after 1,857 laser supernovas blasting around my eye socket, they count them with a little meter, the first thousand were the worst.
Many hues of bastardy, here, Mr TDG, but fatness is not one of them, maybe you misread the post, maybe you need your eyes sorting, as we say. Or maybe, like, mr spark-up, you are confusing me with some other cybernut, a fat one.
Buster has a general anaesthetic tomorrow for minor surgery; now, there's a real worry.
In the day ward I listened for the first time to the Jeremy Vine Show, with some stand-in hosting and fielding the calls, e-mails and texts. That's what you call Redneck Radio.
I hope Mr Buster is going private.None of that NHS shit for him.
Animals are - in my lengthy experience - exceptionally well-served by their medics. Unless and until one animal decides to be ill or get injured on a Sunday or a Bank Holiday weekend, at which point you find yourself with a very sick animal in a waiting room which resembles human A&E on a bad Saturday night, where all the vets are from Euroland and the receptionists were trained by the Human Resources division of the Stasi. And paying five times as much for the privilege.
Does this bear comparison with human private medicine, I wonder?
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