Doctor Feel Good

August 2, 2017 9:47am Published by Jules Smith in Whimsy On A Wednesday 26 Comments

Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

Well, truth be told it’s more like woeful on a Wednesday. I’m very poorly.

It started with a feeling in my throat akin to swallowing broken glass with meths. I knew then that this wasn’t going to be pretty.


I called the doctor for an appointment, such was my agony. There’s an art to getting past the doctor’s receptionists whom, in truth, think they’re more qualified than the doctor. They hold on to their precious little appointments like prizes and won’t let you have one unless you’re dying. It makes you want to go and breathe your germs on them but you have to try ringing first.

“Hello, doctors surgery, Marjorie speaking.”

“I’m desperately ill and need to see a doctor immediately.” Always use strong words and get straight to the point. Being all polite in that classic British way gets you flipping nowhere.

“Is it an emergency?”

* we go*

“I feel it’s past emergency, Marjorie. It took me several attempts to dial the number my vision is so distorted. I can barely breathe, swallowing is a thing of the past and my chest sounds like the farmer’s tractor. And that’s not all, Marjorie. I’ve spent 8 months in America and got bitten by so many mosquitoes that I had to spend weeks in a Benadryl induced coma. I don’t know if you’ve seen the Benadryl commercials over there but I am at serious risk of heart disease, epilepsy, ectopic pregnancy and mini strokes. I’m wondering if that’s where it all started…in foreign lands.”

“I can get you in this afternoon at 2.00 pm.”

Well, I about fell off my bloody chair.

Waiting To Die

My objective was serious meds. Again, not easy to acquire. The receptionist is the first hurdle, the doctor the next. They don’t like to give out medicine unless it’s absolutely necessary. Go home, gargle with salt water and stop being a pussy is the usual advice.

I sat in the waiting room doing things to make myself look and sound more dreadful than I did. I rubbed my eyes really hard and then tried not to blink. I didn’t blow my nose and I didn’t cough. I let all that stuff build up ready for the stethoscope. I then sat running fingers through my hair again and again to make it look lank and greasy. The person next to me got up and moved.

As I was doing this I glanced at the posters on the wall. Nurturing, positive, up beat material that makes the suffering patient feel….

Like they’re going to die.

First off, before we get onto the “You may be fatally ill” POS, how is this OK?

You can have condoms at 13? I mean, at this tender age shouldn’t you be gazing gooey eyed at your first crush and nearly fainting if they talk to you? At a push, maybe a peck of a kiss. But no, how things have changed. What goes on in the school yard now, I beg to ask?

“Alright,” says gangly, spotty youth with a mouth full of iron brace.

“Yeah, you?” giggles girl with freshly groomed, high top ponytail.

“You wanna…move things along, like,” he says.

“Have you, err, have you got..”

“Condoms. Yeah. Pocket full. Got my C card, B.”

“I’ve got a couple too. Registered the other day. Joey P filled one up with water and dropped it from the bridge onto the science building and nearly knocked Dr Farqua out! Didn’t wanna use it wiv ‘im anyway. He stinks of B.O.”

“LOL. That’s joke. So, err, where d’ya want do it? Bike sheds or common lounge toilets?”

“Not bovvered, really…”


Am I misremembering?

Well, yes actually I am now! I can remember everything I did a few years back but finding my car keys before this appointment took 17 minutes. And what did I do this morning apart from talk to Marjorie? Not a clue. But that could be the shock of getting an almost instantaneous appointment. Almost worthy of opening a bottle of champagne.

Or not.

How is a tiny glass of vin rouge 2.3 units? Are the French aware of zees? Note to fun-sponge quacks: Having this cheery notice on the wall causes health harm, raises my blood pressure but, to be fair,  improves my spelling – I never knew you spelt cirrhosis like that. Because I really wanted to know.

I felt sick to my stomach. Not good, apparently.

Oh good. That’s not caused the onset of anxiety and got my heart racing.


That helps.

And now they have “special mystery medical people” who you can chat with. That’s right. Spill it all out to a stranger.

Don’t worry, Des has probably registered his C card.


YOU THINK? WELL DONE EINSTEIN! That was your cunning plan all along, wasn’t it! Oh yes. This is what we do to patients who demand appointments. Passive aggressive voodoo in the waiting room. Sick? You’re gonna be… BWAHAHAHAHA.

The Doctor came out and shouted my name. I just about came to from the bad JuJu and followed the High Priestess into her den like a zombie.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“Well, initially I came in with the mother of all viruses but since then, it seems I could have all manner of fatal diseases. I may have to meet with Desmond. Is he good for a couple of units?”

Like all that wasn’t enough, I glanced at the doctor’s table and saw this.


“Are you serious?” I asked, picking up the colour chart.

“Hydration is very important.”

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question, doc. Let’s imagine that you’ve been very ill and to help your immune system, you’ve been taking a high dose of vitamin C. Thing is, when you go for a wee, the colour is off the chart,” I said pointing to the wee chart. “Like it’s way down in the colour section that seems to be missing here, more like Farrow and Ball’s “Babouche” and verging on radioactive. What does that mean?”

“You could have vitamin C poisoning.”

“It’s like coming on a black comedy game show and winning the lot here,” I retorted.

“Let me just look in your ears….hmmmmm…”

Out came the stethoscope next. I had a pretty coral coloured bra top on (pre planned) so the doctor would think I was classy except you couldn’t really tell anymore. It was impossible to see where the lace ended and my skin started due to my increased blood pressure from sabotage induced panic.

“And breathe in-and-out-and-in-and-out -and-in-and-out”

Torture. Legal torture. Nobody can breathe in and out this fast without their left ventricle slamming shut. Doctors are psychopathic.

“Hmmmm…that doesn’t sound good.” Positive reinforcement.

“Open wide and say ahhhhhh.”


“Have you had your tonsils out?”


“Are you sure?”

“I think I’m pretty sure. I think I might have noticed. Unless I’ve been abducted by aliens or someone’s slipped some Rohypnol into one of my “units” and sold them off on the black market.”

“Odd. I can’t see them.”

“Brilliant. Either I have some sort of flesh eating disease or they’ve shrivelled up in fright.”

“I’m quite concerned about you.”

“You’re not the first.”

“I’m giving you seven days of antibiotics instead of five and I want you to come back at the end of the week.”

“Can’t wait.”

Medicine Man

I hurried out, as best as one with a book of illnesses can hurry, from the surgery and drove a few streets up to the 24-hour chemist. I passed my paper over to Sanjeet the Scrip.

“Do you pay for prescriptions?”

“Usually. Unless having disappearing tonsils counts as a disability.”

“That’ll be £8.60”

“Bloody hell, that’s gone up. It was only a fiver last time I came.”

This reaction was ridiculous and yet typically British. See, over here (for the benefit of my American readers) we don’t object to paying £1.15 for a litre of petrol. ( 4.54 litres equates to a gallon which is £5.22 which is basically $7.00 a gallon) we’re used to it being expensive but when prescriptions go up. Now, we have an issue. It’s the other way round at your end.

Anyway, I begrudgingly passed a tenner over to Sanjeet the Scrip and he went off to get me these.


“Are you allergic to penicillin”

“I don’t think it matters, mate. Ship and sailed on the medical front here.”

I’m three days in and still alive. Though in all likelihood, at this point, I’ve probably lost a kidney.



Leave a reply

My car colour is on the danger end of your pee colour chart. Is it safe to drive it???

Your car needs hydration, as the chart says. Put a few liters of water in the gas tank and it’ll be right as rain. In fact, you won’t have to worry about driving that car ever again. 😉

As right as rain, eh Mike? Are you trying to pass as an Englishman? I nearly believed it right until you spelt litre the modern American way 😉 In another 40 years, heavy water in the gas tank will take us far. Hopefully, car colours will have been improved and back to Racing Green or Graphite Grey.

What Mike said…. though I think it’s quite hazardous to drive a car the same colour as a Belisha beacon.

Sorry for your pain but your story made me laugh out loud. You may be sick but you haven’t lost your sense of humor which means you are on the mend. Hopefully, your attack of hippie virus will be brief.

It would appear that those informational posters are self-defeating whereas they would make an ill person believe themselves sicker than they already are. Here in the Colonies, we are bombarded with TV ads for E.D. meds, hair growth, boob jobs, wrinkle free skin, and anti-depressants, except the side effects can kill you but that’s ok because you’ll leave behind a good looking corpse.

This is the sacrifice I make for others, Hardnox. This alone should bless me with good health, but no. Some are meant to suffer.

The adverts in America scare me. Usually, the side effects are more gruesome than the illness. I mean where do you go with that? Straight to the restaurant for a chicken fried steak, heart attack potatoes and a lemon drop martini, that’s what I say! 🙂

It’s that US$7 per gallon petrol that’s at the heart of your illness. And to I’m sure you’re sick of receiving traffic citations for merely doing what James Bond does in every film. And I know that you miss sitting down to a meal where there is obviously 3X as much food as anyone could eat and they bring you a fleet of to-go boxes. Those things would make anyone ill.

Yeah, make sure you bring plenty of moolah if you’re thinking of driving over here, LL. Maybe you should get a chauffeur driven AM instead.
You’re right. Why did I not come to Larry the Locum in the first place?! 🙂

Get well soon.

Don’t get too comfortable with all of that low priced cough syrup…

I’m trying to and I’ve run out of syrup.
Thank you, Larry 🙂

I hope you’re on the mend! It’s so crazy, the differences in medical care. Sure, we pay more for prescriptions, but getting in to the doctor is a question of personal evaluation and willingness to pay for the visit, not a question of whether a person is dying. 😉

Since most of those symptoms the doctor worried are common in pregnancy, I’ve decided: I must be about to die. 😉

Not yet, Crystal. I don’t think these antibiotics are up to scratch. I should be home free by now.
You have to pay to see the doctor? I didn’t know that. I assumed it would be covered by insurance. Well, at least you don’t get people going to the doctor just for a chat like you do here. Despite loving my subsidised health care it can get abused. I can see a necessity for some privatisation in areas.

You’re not about to die. It’s a money scam. Here it’s scaremongering as a form of oppression. 🙂



all that Sunny D in my system is shook my fingers, here’s the real link:


Aha! Sunny D. Kids get the taste, mums get the credit, kids get poisoned, mums get slated, Sunny D gets sued. All in the pursuit of healthy plastic living. #Result.

My sweet, I have just received the “oops” face on YouTube saying “this video is unavailable.” Such ridiculousness.
Until this is corrected I can only support your decision to go purple based on the following knowledge: Grapes, Welch’s, Royalty, Rain, Ethereal, Parma Violets and a bluer shade of red. *)

Jules, I just laughed so hard I pulled a muscle in my side! Dare I go to the doctor?

Ha! Sorry, Jane, I hope you feel better. My advice would be to stay well away from the doc and lie down with a good movie until you’re back on the mend. 🙂

Congratulations on getting the doctor to take your symptoms seriously, Jules. When you seem him next week, say “Listen, Buster, I want you to stop me from dying”. Tell him you need to record everything he says on your mobile – that should his focus his mind. You could also casually tell him that you’re the mistress of a ruthless gangster.

Great idea, Mr Gorilla Bananas. I’m kind of pissed off that my tonsils have gone awry, to be honest.

I might also come down hard on the chemist. Maybe I should start charging them protection money. This would result in free scrips for life too. I shall start practising my scary face. 🙂

You’ve lost your tonsils?
That’s rather careless.

On the flip side though, you’ve got balls.
I very much doubt I’d have the gumption to stand in my doctor’s waiting room, taking photos of the posters on the walls.

I know, how stupid of me. I think I was abducted by aliens.

I do have balls but fortunately, don’t have the symptoms of a dropped testicle.
Since I’m weird anyway, it doesn’t really matter. I find that if you act oddly in public people tend to leave you alone and if you smile at them they look away. Anyway, Masher, you’re talking to the bird who takes pictures of manhole covers so a few NHS leaflets are nuffin’! 😉

Have you listened to Aretha Franklin’s Dr. Feelgood? It’ll MOVE you.

Here, they do everything they can to prevent you from seeing a doctor. They send you to what’s called a Nurse Practitioner. Between a Dr. and a Nurse. They can prescribe meds. I’m fighting a terrible case of sciatica and was given an opioid by a NP. Won’t take ’em. They make me nervous. They might be too much fun.

Feel better, buttercup.

I just listened to it before responding. Good call. That’s what I call proper Sunday morning, lounging about in a warehouse apartment in the city, with a coffee and a freshly printed broadsheet, music. I can totally SMELL that situation.

Between a doctor and a nurse? Fair play to Merrrica for inventing jobs.
I have a cure for sciatica – rowing on the lake in Central Park followed by large glasses of wine.

On the opioids – can I have ’em? 😉

First off, you know how to write, all right. “I’ve decided to spread my truth on the table like a vulnerable banquet.” That is beautiful. Just beautiful and may I say a true reflection of who you are and what you are. That said, I remember the day you first wrote about your father having ended his own life. I remember it like it were yesterday. It is what it is, and I applaud you for having the guts to share it with us even if writing is your outlet. Yes, some things just don’t go away simply because we choose to ignore it. But it’s a survival strategy and it makes perfect sense. I, too, have seen so many people die these past few years that I’ve become unable to take anything on this planet seriously except for the people I love and like. It’s that feeling of being unable to stop death from happening that hurts more than anything else. The gods can go sit on a stick, but that’s just my opinion, Jules Dear. Don’t let them get to you. Live now. This might be as good as it gets. People always want more, even feel worthy of an afterlife because this one isn’t good enough for them. I’ve known you as someone who knows how to suck (No, no, not suck!… Read on, dammit!) the marrow out of life without choking on the bone (thank you, Mr. Keating), and you’re an inspiration. What I’m trying to say while spreading my truth on the table in the process is that even when you’re floored, you still inspire through your writing. There. I said it.


Blue, you made me cry.In a good way. You are such a wonderful person. You are so in tune with everything I believe and feel it’s astounding. If the internet is good for anything, it’s being blessed with a friend like you. I mean that with so much beautiful ferocity I can’t express it well enogh. Thank you 🙂 x

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