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I Went To The Doctor Who Diagnosed An
Acute Case Of Being Awesome
My mum used to take me to the doctors every week or so. It drove me
insane. The slightest sniffle and I was rushed there to be prodded, poked
and examined. One day, I made the mistake of asking what the small lump
under the skin near by nob was. Next thing I know, I am in the doctor's
surgery, pants around my ankles whilst Dr Mohammed prodded, poked and examined
MY NOB!!! There I am wondering what the hell the little purple acorn was
he had just exposed from beneath my foreskin. I didn't even know that was
there! I was horified and mortified and, as a result, vowed to never go to
the doctors again. I failed but, having said that, it takes a LOT to get
me to go. I once even insisted on local anaesthetic for an operation that
required general, watched whilst it was being done, insulted the surgeon,
telling him that he was no better than a murderer, discharged myself early an
hour or so later and somehow drove home, before collapsing with blood poisoning
and an infection. If I ever die through neglect, it will be thanks to my
mum and Dr Mohammed.
PS I would like to add that, in adulthood, my
helmet is no longer bright purple nor hidden beneath it's foreskin. For
some reason, it is quite important for me to let you know that. Purple
helmets are really best left to those under 12.
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