I haven't been blogging,
Because I've been logging,
A few sick days in bed,
With a cough and sore head
And no, I haven't had fun, flogging.
Right so much for the poetry.
I feel better now. Have you ever noticed how much better you feel after you visit the doctor.
I have a great doctor.
I turned up at the doctor's rooms ten minutes early.
He sees me straight away. It pays to get the first appointment after lunch.
I tell him all my woes outlining a plethora of symptoms.
I hand him a sheet of paper I have typed up on the computer listing the degradations of my bodily functions with times and places of their occurrences.
He glances at it and throws it aside on the desk. -Just throws it aside as if it was unnecessary!
Doesn't he realise that the clues to making me alive and well again are contained in the detailed analysis I spent hours typing up for him.
I could have been resting, sleeping in bed, but no, I am aware that his time is precious so I spent all of the previous night on the computer looking up my symptoms on the Internet; all to help him diagnose the hour of my demise and he just throws it aside like a piece of junk mail.
He takes my temperature and blood pressure. He listens to my chest and then my lungs.
"Say Ahhh," he commands, and he looks down my mouth, probably looking for tell tale signs of my sex life.
"Aha!" he says.
"What?" I ask.
"You have a chest infection."
"Rest up a few days and you will be fine."
"That's it? I'm not at death's door?"
"Not as far as I can tell," he says.
I wonder about getting a second opinion. "As far as you can tell? Should I be concerned?"
He laughs a boyish giggle and raises an eyebrow with an impish grin, "Just go home and rest. You'll be fine. Trust me I'm a doctor." We both burst out laughing at that remark.
"Thanks Doc I feel better already."
"Of course you do." He smiles as he holds the door open for me.
I sign the medicare papers and walk outside. The sun is shining. I feel great.
He is such a good doctor.