So I gave in and went to see a Quack.

So the Quest For A Poo today led me to the Doctor’s. I never go to the Doctor unless I absolutely have to, this is half to do with me being horrified at the thought of explaining things about how my body is going wrong to a man in tweed, and half because my Doctor is spectacularly incompetent. I know this because for almost the full 2004 year I had to go in for monthly injections to try and reduce the severe endometriosis I had been diagnosed with, and each and every time I arrived at the surgery I had to explain to him who I was, why I was there and what he had to do, this was after fighting my way past reception who kept making me appointments to see the nurse when my consultant had clearly specified the injections were to be administered by a Doctor. I know they see thousands of people every year and I have no problem with him needing his memory jogging but my notes were on the computer in front of him, all he had to do was read them as I was walking from the waiting area to his office, but no, every month we had “and how can I help you Miss…er….”.

So I don’t go, because I figure sleep cures most things and the things it doesn’t cure can be forgotten about if you consume enough Jack Daniels and/or gin.

Today however it all got too much and I was beginning to have to crawl rather than walk, which can be embarrassing, so I took myself off to Dr Tweed. I told him what the problems were and explained to the man who injected me with Prostap for a year that I had been injected with Prostap for over a year. As a response to this, he took my temperature and listened to my breathing.

Now I am not a doctor so I am unclear as to the links between your bum and your lungs, perhaps this is something you learn when you decide to become a GP, that you must check every patient to make absolutely sure that they are in fact alive and able to breathe before proceeding. I am delighted to report that I am one of the lucky ones and can still breathe, phew!

So after asking me something which I will never be able to say out loud or type, he asked which pain medication had alleviated the symptoms before, to which I replied “nothing, actually I really like Codeine but I’m not meant to have any more of that, I liked it a little bit too much…”, which is the truth but is about as helpful as me putting a dead badger on his desk and asking him to make it all better. So since Voltarol has never helped he has sent me away with Mefenamic Acid and a warning that (and bear in mind that Dr Tweed’s warning whilst I was taking Prostap was that it might reduce my bone density which is massively useless information that only seemed to mean that I shouldn’t audition for a part in ‘Jackass’) whilst taking it I should stay away from direct exposure to…. Sunlight.

Yes, that’s right, I should not be exposed to the sun. I am a Vampire. Which explains the checking of my breathing, turns out I could actually be dead after all… or un-dead… whatever, lets just hope I can sit down without crying in a couple of days, at the moment I would sell my house and my sister for that privilege.