Pinky's Book Link

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Pinky tells "How Doctors can make you Sick!"


Warning: If you are a boy you should probably cease reading this post because it may be a bit icky for the faint-hearted.
It’s come to my attention that Lara Bingle and Michael Clarke (the Australian cricket guy) aren’t together anymore! At least that’s what I gleaned today when I caught up on all the gossip magazines whilst waiting an interminably long time at the doctor this afternoon. 

In fact, it appears that Ms Bingle and Clarkey broke up some time ago. I only know this because I saw a photo of his wedding to a glamorous brunette in one of the magazines called,“No Idea” or something like that.


But I’m afraid that’s not the worst of it; I also read today...
 Michael Jackson is dead!

Imagine the hazardous germs those magazines must be harbouring. Some of them were so old they probably give refuge to ancient Bubonic plague bacteria. Secretive, little germs just waiting to be released from the crinkly pages of a 14th century Woman’s Day by some random three year old with a runny nose, manically rifling through the magazine table and annoying the crap out of everyone in the waiting room.

But there was worse to come when I eventually made it in to see the doctor.

“Pinky, I’m going to need you to provide a urine specimen,” Dr. G requested pleasantly holding up a teeny weeny jar.

“Are you sure that’s necessary,” I stammered with false cheer, “I’ve had UTIs before and it’s never anything serious, just your garden variety bacteria. Ha ha!”

(Besides, I had already taken two leftover antibiotics from an old packet the previous night, so any live bacteria were probably already floating lifelessly on their backs by now. 

They were actually Padraic’s leftover acne antibiotics I’d taken… but I wasn’t about to reveal that clanger to the good doctor.)

“Off you go!” he scoffed jovially, pushing me out the door into the waiting room.

Of course a dozen heads immediately snapped up to attention, scrutinising the specimen jar I clutched and then watched me skulking down the corridor to the loo like a criminal.

As I pushed open the door the stink hit me full in the face. “Come in,” smiled a lady washing her hands shamelessly at the sink.

She’d clearly not been “providing” a number one specimen. It was possibly a number three by the smell of the cloying, malodorous entity enveloping the cubicle.

It was a difficult mission I had in producing a midstream specimen into a miniscule container whilst holding my breath and not actually making contact with the toilet seat. But… the mission was accomplished.

Then came the daunting task of walking the twisted path past all the curious gawkers ogling me as I carried my warm, sloshing container back to the doctor’s room.

I should have pretended to trip over and spill it all over someone. Oh well, maybe next time.