Dean Whitbread 2020
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Yesterday, I cycled to the hospital and back, all the way up and down the Holloway Road. I had to fast from 10.30pm Sunday night. It was very odd being awake and in a public space without having drunk tea. The hospital took five phials of type A+ blood marked with brightly coloured labels. The doctor was nice – young, female and Polish – so I produced the few Polish words I knew to take my mind off the procedure. My nose was at her shapely bum height as I sat on the chair at 9.05 a.m. and uttered the greeting,
“Gin Dobri.”
“Oh, you speak Polish?”
“No. I just fancy you.”
She dazzled me in the morning light with a beautiful and natural smile.
“That’s nice.”
“Czaesht.”
“You know it!”
“No, I just have half a dozen friends of Polish origin, all of whom also fancy you.”
“In your dreams, Englishman.”
Today, I have a small bruise.
They will have the results on Thursday, and I go back to the doctor’s surgery on Friday to check my blood pressure, and to get the biochemical lowdown.
The chesty cold I’ve had is leaving me. I ran a couple of miles this morning. The leg rash is going. My concentration is OK. I’m still thinking, surely I cannot be that ill, or I would feel much worse…
This thing has 3 Comments
You got a good phlebotomist there, in that Polish doctor – that’s a pretty nice bruise. All our phlebs look like Russian shot-putters.
Hope your results come back ok.
needles, eeeek! good luck with your results! (nasty bruise that-i hate it when it goes yellow)
One of the last times I had blood drawn, I passed out!! Lucky you!!