I’d been at my doctors for less than a minute when he asked me, “Now what are we going to do about your back?”
“My back? How did you know about my back?”
My doctor said nothing, just kind of assessed me with a worried look.
“Have I already mentioned my back?” I asked him.
“Okay then. Because I was thinking you were a Superdoctor or something. Seriously, that would have been some awesome guesswork. Have I mentioned how much sleep I haven’t been getting?”
When I’m sleep deprived, I’m a mess. The synapses in my brain just don’t fire. What I say and what I hear don’t necessarily match reality. Learning about Winston Churchill, Napolean Bonaparte, Thomas Jefferson and Bob Hawke and how at the peak of their political powers they only required a few hours sleep a night, I can’t believe there haven’t been more and bloodier wars. I’m a beast when I’m tired and I don’t make good decisions.
I’m more for the Albert Einstein bedroom of thought. As well as refreshing naps, he would apparently sleep ten hours a night unless he was working on an important project, during which he would always insist on eleven. He really was a clever bastard.
My sleep problems aside, I now have more drugs in my system than the boys from Trainspotting.
This has not been a breezy sort of week. It started with sinus infections, headaches and shivers and, just when I thought I was through it all, I developed a chest infection which came with insomnia and a cough so powerful it threw out my back.
I was woken at 8.30 this morning, after a fitful 3 hours sleep, by my lovely wife. “I’ve made you an appointment with the doctor,” she told me. She knows I won’t.
“Okay,” I murmured. “What time?”
“If you’re quick you can grab a shower.”
By the time I arrived at the doctors I had my usual list of ailments for him to explain away. I tend to save up my aches and pains for when I can’t avoid going in. Why pay to see a doctor every couple of weeks? I’m always looking for opportunities to bulk buy.
He gave me the once over for my man-flu and then we got on with working out my moles were fine and, despite my lack of drive, I’ve developed golf elbow.
“See you in a couple of months,” I told my doc as I went to the door, “when I grab the next prescription.”
“You’d be due about now, wouldn’t you?” he asked me.
I looked at the papers he’d given me. There was a prescription for some antibiotics, but not for my usual poison.
“Didn’t I ask you for that when I first came in?” I asked him.
He gave me that same searching look again then indicated I sit back down.
“Obviously that’s what I thought I said to you when I told you about my back,” I told him, and he further prescribed I go home and try to catch up on some sleep.
It’s that or I go into politics I guess.
When not typing away over here and checking his stats every two minutes,
Bruce Devereaux hangs out at his ‘BIG FAMILY little income’ Facebook Page.
’raising a family on little more than laughs’