So I was off-road on Vesuvius when I slipped and hurt my ankle...
"What!?!"
I have many many irrational hatreds...and one of them is middle-aged men who wear pony-tails,-long,greying and greasy-,and who also wear 3/4 length trousers with more pockets than a commando...and who are also teachers.
They are invariably self-absorbed pontificating misogynists with a patina of ersatz intellectualism that extends as far as the wine column of 'Hustler' and the small ads in the London Review of Books.
When I went to call the patient in from the waiting room he was ensconced on one chair,and was resting his possibly fractured foot on another...this mind you, at a time on Sunday morning when patients were queuing out of the door and into the car park.
Most of the other patients appeared to be in awe of him because he was reading...a book...a book without pictures!!!
He took several minutes to collect his book and crutches and various arty-farty hippy bags before making bounding one-legged hops on the crutches.
"Right...so you were walking up Mount Vesuvius when you tripped and injured your ankle...okay...which way did it twist...do you remember?"
No
"Okay...I see that you have a plaster on that leg...did you break it?"
I don't know...I went to the local hospital and they took an x-ray and put me in the plaster and told me to keep it on for four weeks...
"So you don't know if its broken?"
No...but they did give me a letter to take to the hospital when I got back to England
He duly handed me a much-folded and sweat stained letter...written in Italian!!
"Well...Sir...I'm afraid that I don't speak any Italian beyond waving my arms above my head and shouting 'take me to the South African consulate'..."
I speak Italian...
"Okay...can you please translate the letter then...?"
Well...I don't actually read Italian...so if you could read it out,I'll translate it from the spoken word...as it were...
*sigh*
"Okay...well...that plaster looks dirty and worn and a little ragged...have you been walking on it?"
Yes...they told me not to walk on it but didn't give me any crutches...
"Why didn't you hire some...or buy some...?"
I didn't have any money for things like that...I was on holiday after all...
"And I suppose that you didn't have insurance...or a European health card...or a credit card either?"
No
*Oy!!*
Well...I just finished my holiday and then came back to England and came straight to hospital...I got these crutches from my brother...
"Okay...when did you get back then?"
Five days ago...I've been too busy to come in before now though...but now it getting really painful ...
"Okay...so...what have you been taking for the pain?"
Nothing...I don't like polluting my body with drugs...
(Take me now Lord)
And so...I cut the less-than-useless plaster off of his leg and x-rayed him...he didn't appear to have broken anything except my will to live...
"Okay Sir...well...I suspect that you have a grade one sprain...they take some time to heal...but you do need to start walking on the ankle now...and you need to take some painkillers...and I'll refer you to the physio to make sure you get proper evaluation and rehab of that ankle..."
Oh...okay...when will I see the physio? Today?
"I'm not sure...I'll write a referral letter now and you need to phone them on Tuesday afternoon and they will give you an appointment time..."
But I don't have any air time on my phone...can't you phone them now?
"Well Sir...perhaps you could ask your brother...or another teacher at the school...but honestly...the physios don't work on a Sunday because ankle rehab is frankly...not an urgent issue..."
Well...I work during the week...the weekend is the only time that suits me...
"Well...Sir...actually...'Emergency Unit ' is not a Latin phrase that means 'come in whenever the freak it suits you'...and oddly enough...'physiotherapy' doesn't mean that either!!"
"What!?!"
I have many many irrational hatreds...and one of them is middle-aged men who wear pony-tails,-long,greying and greasy-,and who also wear 3/4 length trousers with more pockets than a commando...and who are also teachers.
They are invariably self-absorbed pontificating misogynists with a patina of ersatz intellectualism that extends as far as the wine column of 'Hustler' and the small ads in the London Review of Books.
When I went to call the patient in from the waiting room he was ensconced on one chair,and was resting his possibly fractured foot on another...this mind you, at a time on Sunday morning when patients were queuing out of the door and into the car park.
Most of the other patients appeared to be in awe of him because he was reading...a book...a book without pictures!!!
He took several minutes to collect his book and crutches and various arty-farty hippy bags before making bounding one-legged hops on the crutches.
"Right...so you were walking up Mount Vesuvius when you tripped and injured your ankle...okay...which way did it twist...do you remember?"
No
"Okay...I see that you have a plaster on that leg...did you break it?"
I don't know...I went to the local hospital and they took an x-ray and put me in the plaster and told me to keep it on for four weeks...
"So you don't know if its broken?"
No...but they did give me a letter to take to the hospital when I got back to England
He duly handed me a much-folded and sweat stained letter...written in Italian!!
"Well...Sir...I'm afraid that I don't speak any Italian beyond waving my arms above my head and shouting 'take me to the South African consulate'..."
I speak Italian...
"Okay...can you please translate the letter then...?"
Well...I don't actually read Italian...so if you could read it out,I'll translate it from the spoken word...as it were...
*sigh*
"Okay...well...that plaster looks dirty and worn and a little ragged...have you been walking on it?"
Yes...they told me not to walk on it but didn't give me any crutches...
"Why didn't you hire some...or buy some...?"
I didn't have any money for things like that...I was on holiday after all...
"And I suppose that you didn't have insurance...or a European health card...or a credit card either?"
No
*Oy!!*
Well...I just finished my holiday and then came back to England and came straight to hospital...I got these crutches from my brother...
"Okay...when did you get back then?"
Five days ago...I've been too busy to come in before now though...but now it getting really painful ...
"Okay...so...what have you been taking for the pain?"
Nothing...I don't like polluting my body with drugs...
(Take me now Lord)
And so...I cut the less-than-useless plaster off of his leg and x-rayed him...he didn't appear to have broken anything except my will to live...
"Okay Sir...well...I suspect that you have a grade one sprain...they take some time to heal...but you do need to start walking on the ankle now...and you need to take some painkillers...and I'll refer you to the physio to make sure you get proper evaluation and rehab of that ankle..."
Oh...okay...when will I see the physio? Today?
"I'm not sure...I'll write a referral letter now and you need to phone them on Tuesday afternoon and they will give you an appointment time..."
But I don't have any air time on my phone...can't you phone them now?
"Well Sir...perhaps you could ask your brother...or another teacher at the school...but honestly...the physios don't work on a Sunday because ankle rehab is frankly...not an urgent issue..."
Well...I work during the week...the weekend is the only time that suits me...
"Well...Sir...actually...'Emergency Unit ' is not a Latin phrase that means 'come in whenever the freak it suits you'...and oddly enough...'physiotherapy' doesn't mean that either!!"
better than nursing a hopeless case
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