Why I now hate needles and fat nurses
A sob story, to be sure.
So, after a few weeks of being generally run down, insomnia, losing weight, I thought I'd go see Senor Doctor who suggested I go get some blood tests done and eat some radioactive **** to check I'm not dying.
And Madame FatNurseMcBetsy managed quite elegantly to put the needle for the aforementioned blood test into my vein without a problem. Then she cunningly pulled it out at an angle, scored the back of it but 'didn't notice' until a protusion the size of a half golfball surfaced around the puncture mark.
Now I'm on anitbiotics for the next 28 days 'as a precaution', but I've been cordially invited back to meet Senor Doctor who will no doubt tell me that all the tests were fine and to go drink some Guiness. Which of course I can't now do as I'm on antibiotics. Somewhat ruining any birthday plans for this weekend really.
In conclusion:
Never ever go to the doctor
Never even go to an NHS hospital for a routine prodecure
Never question FatNurseMcBetsy when golfballs appear in your veins
Though I did quite enjoy the barium madness. Very orangey.
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