I’m at Dad’s and connected to the net. God knows how long it will last.
Doctors was an entire waste of time – as usual. I sat there, he said “how are you.” This seems either an entirely redundant question to me (as surely if anyone, HE should know) or something that I could spend an hour answering, but as I only have ten minutes I say “fine.” He then turns to his PC and looks at my notes. heaven forfend he couldn’t look at them before I arrive and give an impression of knowing what he was doing. “Oh yes, you came for an ECG yesterday.”
Him: *phones reception* can I have Erastes’ ECG results please.
Because obviously it’s impossible to have the records of your expected patients to hand in advance. This kind of behaviour would get you sacked in business.
ECG turns up. Doctor opens and stares at them for a minute.
Then he turns to me and says; (wait for it, it’ll blow you away)
YOU HAVE AN IRREGULAR HEARTBEAT.
Well, bugger me. How much is this man paid? it’s taken him SIX weeks to confirm something I TOLD HIM in the first place.
HEAD FUCKING DESK. There are just… no words.© Copyright 2010 Erastes, All rights Reserved. Written For: Erastes