I've had an ache. It's been there for a year or two, and Mrs A. finally badgered me into going to the doctor. With her being pregnant we see a fair few doctors, so I thought I might as well make a booking. As we only moved into the area around Christmas, seeing a new doctor required that she asked all the questions and poked and prodded all the places. It didn't really worry me as it's the closest to any form of action that I'm getting right now.
With the litigious nature of society, she wanted to be absolutely sure that she was looking into every aspect of possibility insofar as diagnosis was concerned. She thought that the symptoms could be kidneys, lower back problems or hernia. She asked me to pee in a cup. Apparently her coffee cup wasn't what she had in mind. Once we cleared that up I presented her with my specimen. She went to look at it under a microscope. "You can't see that it's three quarters full"? I queried.
Then she sent me to see the undead. The Nosferatu of pathology.
I'm impressed. They really have changed with the times. Movies have you believe that Mummies and Zombies and such are still in mouldy old tombs and mansions in inaccessible mountain regions. But the reality seems to be far different.
Vampires seem to be in some demand. You can't make a booking, and first come best dressed makes for something of a scramble at opening time. Entering the
den waiting room was an experience. The smiling assistant had me fill in a couple of forms. Then I sat amongst the hoi polloi waiting my turn. The two mothers with strollers taking up at least half of the available room were very loud. One had a boy, I assume called Lachlan, though I only heard him called Lachy Loo. The other had a girl who I think may have been called Oompsywookumsdarlingpoo. Or something to that effect. Even though I was reading my book, most of my attention was on Lachy Loo. Mumsy wumsy kept up an incessant monologue without actually looking at him once.
"Don't do that Lachy Loo. Leave that nice lady's purse in her handbag Lachy loo. No Lachy Loo, that's a colostomy bag". Yes, some poor old bugger in a dressing gown with said accoutrement had come in, waved knowingly at the receptionist and sat down next to the woman who was next to me. The poor girl tried to sit on my lap. It didn't really worry me as it's the closest to any form of action that I'm getting right now.
Lachy Loo ran amok whilst his annoyingly ineffective mother droned at him without conviction. Then Lachy Loo hit the deck. I'm not sure who tripped the little bastard, but it was beautifully done. The howls would have done a werewolf proud. Then inexplicably, his mother picked him up, dusted him off and handed him a garden gnome to play with. Full size, pottery (or whatever they are made of), funny hat, pipe in mouth, brightly painted garden gnome. Lachy Loo tried to hit people with it, but it was almost as big as he, and far too heavy.
"Yanny der Hearse"?
I was immensely gratified to find that the Vampire on duty did have a surname that would have done her Transylvanian ancestors proud, and an accent to match. She took me out the back, and having scrubbed my neck nice and clean before I came, I was startled to find that she was going to extract my blood via a very modern looking single fang like contraption that she stuck in my arm. She filled three test tube like vials and then wrote my name and date of birth on them. I assume it's for vintage clarification purposes. I wonder if 1969 was a good year.