How to enjoy Saturday, NHS style

Woe is me. Saturday dawned fine & clear, and as I performed my normal morning checklist (1. Still Alive. Check. 2. Flatulent. Check. 3. Got to go to sodding work. Check.) I noticed that ‘something’ had increased it’s dimensions overnight. Luckily for the Obergruppenfuhrer (Domestic) it was my knee.

KNEECON 1 had been declared. Forget hippos, it was now accurately resembling Jumbo’s ballbag. With a triple serving of ouch, a sprinkle of whimper and a big sideorder of “AAAAAARRRGGGHHH”. Morning dear.

Being the macho ‘ard as nails type that I am, I was reaching for the tubigrip, kneebrace, duck tape and Ibuprofen when I was told to get my sorry arse up the road to the A&E.

A&E. On a Saturday morning. When they’ve only just finished sweeping up the Stella/vomit/blood/eyeballs & other offal that is the true legacy of a night out in Chester.

‘Not for me’, I cried, attempting to get my socks on and falling over in a twitching, gibbering heap. Then she got ‘that’ look in her eyes. It’s common to most teachers, I believe. Somewhere between a rutting King Cobra and Vladimir Putin in a really bad mood.

I went to A&E.

Firstly, I parked in the wrong carpark. One of those where you can’t get out unless you walk to the main building anyway and purchase one of their fine tokens. And I had limited change, so limp/curse/mutter time. Into A&E – wahey, not too many people in. Obligatory smack/crackhead slumped in one of the seats drooling a bit with the equally obligatory skinny pale girly holding him up, although it could have been the weight of her earrings that was giving her trouble. I digress.

I even get a nice receptionist, obviously just come on so no-one has tried to stab her too seriously yet. And a nice triage nurse, who whipped a pointy thing into my earhole within a nanosecond of me sitting down, to inform me that I had a temperature and she was writing Query SEPTIC ARTHRITIS? on the bloody form. Rhyming slang? No. Big-huge-ball-of-pus-thing-leg-dropping-off scenario. Eeek.

Three hours later, after seeing our drug-addled chum seen off the premises by the NHS Security SWAT team and two of Cheshire Constabulary’s finest, I have at least seen some fishing on the idiot box, while the sprained children are dragged in, still with footy kit on – glad to see some kids are still injuring themselves the traditional way. Lots of yellow & green taxis have been turning up delivering those delightful specimens who have regained consciousness upside down in a skip somewhere, so I gimp about a bit more.

A-Ha, I am to be treated. A trolley of my very own (stamped Operating Theatre, with clotted blood decoration, but lets not get picky). Hello flustered newly qualified Doctor. Have a good AIIEEEK prod around. And ano AIIIEEEK ther. Oh, a needle.You might want to dump huge amounts of antibiotics and anything left over in the cupboard in me? Lovely. You just attach that home-brew kit then. Did I just hear someone mention that those bloods should have been taken 3 hours ago? Bugger. Byee…..

Hello again FNQD. And trainee nursie (‘ello Darlin’). Oh, a trainee MIDWIFE? How interesting. Yes, I suppose it is a bit different….what are you doing with that needle? Oh, yes Doctor , of course you can drain some samples out of my knee with that FUCKING ENORMOUS NEEDLE…. No BOTH FE Needles. (Gulp). What’s that other needle for? Oh, Lignocaine. So it hurts that much, does it? Don’t trust Mummy’s Little Soldier not to thrash around like an epileptic in a strobelight factory as soon as you stick Concorde’s Nosecone into me leg?

Ahh, five, no fifty minutes to relax as no-one has actually penetrated me with anything sharp again. Nice ceiling tiles. Pity about the light not working, but I guess it’s a romantic atmosphere thing. Oh hello Mr not flustered much Orthopeadic Scablifter type. Right, not Septic Arthritis. Could be reactive Arthritis?? Or Gout. GOUT? I’m 35 years old man. You’ll be prescribing a course of leeches next.

And yes, I can hear what you’re whispering to the FNQD. Yes I know what those funny medical words mean but LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU SADISTIC NHS BASTARD WITH SOME HAPPY PILLS OR I WILL LISTEN TO THE VOICES.

I get some happy pills.

Time elapsed, 6 hrs plus. I wobble home, collecting junk food and whisky en route.