DEAR DOCTOR

DEAR DOCTOR COLUMN

Rarely asked questions, and some strange occurrences, at the Skipton Medical Centre.

When I pull out my nose hairs why do my eyebrows dissappear?

A man who accidentally bit his native tongue.

The patient who wanted to be discharged by saying he was as healthy as Elvis Presley.

A lady asking about these new revolutionary diet fads

“There is one called eat less and exercise more which doesn’t sound right to me”.

The patient admitted in an emergency who was advised that he should burn off some of his fat. The Doctor never thought that anyone could set their tongue alight.

As part of questioning to determine how a mans diet was going he was asked how his movements were going.

“Well” said the man, “ my last poo was so good that my spinal cord is still dissolving in the septic. But that’s not all Doctor, when I went the day before my dump was halfway round the bend before it left my anus.”

The patient with a dose of diahroea after eating a bowl of really hot Chilli.

“I had such a tummy upset that I spent the whole night blowing spackle all over the toilet.”

A man had to have his foreskin attended to because he got it caught in a pencil sharpener. His girlfriend had told him she couldn’t see the point.

On Thursday we had a visit from male and female Dentists. Doctors Oral and Hardy. He’s an Oral Surgeon and she just likes Oral.

A lady who had the runs so badly that she was able to pass it through her flyscreen.

A final word from our wonderful Receptionist.

“You never remember the thing that kills you”

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MENTAL HEALTH MONTHLY REPORT

There were several patients referred to the Smythesdale Clinic last month.

There was the self-loathing schitzophrenic who hated every one of his other selves too.

The man who tried to catch Disassociative Amnesia but failed. This disease causes the memory to be erased on a regular basis and he thought it would be great if he could forget who he owed money too.

The Clinic tried out a new Psychiatrist. He had nearly three weeks of experience and even treated the three personalities in his head yesterday as a demonstration.

We all sat through a training session to update us on ‘Cotard Delusion’.

It is a rare mental disorder in which a person believes he or she is either dead, do not exist, is putrifying or somehow mislaid his or her blood and internal organs. In other words they feel actually gutless.

It was probably named after a Frenchman to celebrate their courage in two World Wars.

A disabled lady who claimed her memory was so bad she had even lost one of her legs.

Then we had a referral from the Pediatrician. She brought with her a young baby who was so beautiful that she felt it should appear in Nappy Ads as a Turd. After her he mentioned he had an appointment with a Mother who wanted some tender, caring medication for her pre-teen son.

While he was here he exposed a fascinating medical fact to us all. “You know” he said “when we are concieved we all start off as just a little arsehole. It is a fact that there are many who work for our Council that never grew beyond that stage, they just grew bigger”.

The single woman from Happy Valley who believed that if she committed suicide she could collect on her life insurance and buy a husband from the Phillipines.

The short story writer from the Astonisher who said his life keeps coming to a halt every time his printer pauses.

We are looking forward to a visit from a Six Therapist from New Zealand. I remember her last visit. She was a perfect pear shape. 48, 78, 180.

AFFAIRS OF THE HEART CHAPTER 2

NEXT IN THE SERIES

ART ATTACK

‘HEALTH OUTCOME FACILITATORS’

In the last episode some time ago it ended with my being transferred to Royal Melbourne for ‘further investigatoring’ of my apparently failing bloodlines.

In between the eightish beds I was liable to occupy during this entire period of confinement there were moments where I was able to not only contemplate my own situation ,but make observations about the various health professionals gliding to and fro and ministering to the sick and needy.

Most prominent are those men and women, women-men or men-women who possess the certification of ‘‘Nurse’.

I will try not to use the word models in this context as few could be accidentally thought of in that sense. Lets same they come in three ‘versions’ of Nurse.

#1 in my preferred order would be those that believe helping others is a vocation, a calling, despite the deplorable conditions. I would make similar observations of Nuns as they also seem to enjoy holding someone’s hand. There is the rare Nun of course who is holding your hand because they’re trying to pry away the Will Form in order to help you complete it, but they are a rarity.

This version of nurse is polite, considerate, friendly and helpful. They give the impression that maybe they should be in an asylum for putting up with what they have sometimes been forced to do. They have an unshakeable belief that laughter is the best medicine and try to achieve that goal when and where it is appropriate. (Men do not always appreciate a giggle while their genitals are being washed).

#2 version believe nursing to be an honourable job despite the shit pay. It might also be said that in earlier, more prudish times, it may have also given a proper young lady an appropriate way to manipulate a potential suitor.

There were times in the ancient past, which still persists in some regimes more sexist today, when men were particularly attracted to nurses because they could wave their willy around without the girl fainting from laughter.

#3 on my list is the most dreaded and the least popular brand often left in the showroom for stocktake sales or depressed old men with severe vision problems like me.

They will more than likely boast that they were actually trained by Florence Nightingale, and following Florence’s realisation of what harm she had really done, took to her bed for the remainder of her life as a penance while the rest of the profession soldiered on.

These fugly ones will seek power in order to compensate for God’s vengeance, the poor conditions and the shit pay.

To be fair they are also the ones that work the extra shifts, overtime without pay and sit next to the nearly departed for hours without complaint or reward primarily because they can’t find a suitably fugly male to ask them out for a date. These are the rarest beings on the planet, someone who seems to derive pleasure from the shit being thrown at them on an hourly basis. I’m sure some of them would keep smiling even while being devoured feet first by a mechanical wood-chipper.

Maybe the hard-arsed and harder-faced old fashioned martinettes like my friend ‘Stallone’’ at John Fawkner, should be my first brand of nurse. It might turn out that they are as desperate as me, maybe that’s why they are so dedicated to their work they’re just filling in time before a quick fumble and shag down in the X-Ray darkroom. They’d sleep with Julie Bishop, Alan Jones or even the Elephant Man to get a head.

Lording it over these ladies is the inevitable boss cocky ,or lack of, in the Senior Nurse or Matron, or maybe they call them Executive Health Managers these days, who usually appear followed by the Corps de Medico. The Hattie Jacques and Lucretia Borgias of the nursing world leading their naïve charges to their virtual slaughter by the bedside.

The Florence is looking to see who might swing both ways, the Hattie is wondering which male nurse might be open for ravishing and the Lucretia is looking for someone with whom they can share a half-decent screw and then end the relationship by chewing the head off under their flacid helmet.

Maybe I was a tad unfair with these descriptions as there are many nurses who don’t open their legs as often as automatic doors, whose University training and professionalism is without peer. I must admit that being of the old school I still cling to the notion that nursing was always an under appreciated profession taken up by young ladies who couldn’t sell perfume, dresses or bouffant your hair, who spent much of their younger years playing doctors and nurses and wanted to continue the fun and games through their adult years.

More later.

GAFFS OF THE YEAR

Tony Abbott, who refuses to wear make-up because he doesn't want to look like an economic girlie-man, walked straight past the new Indonesian President at his inauguration earlier this year.

Apparently he either didn’t recognise the leader of the most populous Islamic nation in the world and our closest neighbour in several ways or he was in a hurry to get to the stall handing out free gifts to world leaders.

George Brandis made himself a laughing stock by saying that even bigots had rights which sort of gives the green light to every self-righteous character to voice their obnoxious opinions as well.

I suppose we could count ourselves lucky that this column is not long enough to include all the gaffs of the Labor party. There biggest gaff was not having any policies which advanced the country and seemed designed just bring us to gridlock like our allies across the Pacific.

Of course that includes England where Tony Abbott is vying for the job of 'Warden of the Cinque Ports' a job previously held by Bob Menzies. He'll look better in knickerbockers, robes and funny hats than in his budgie-smugglers. The gong to someone who already has a dozen of them has just made a joke out of Philip and fools of Team Australia.

We get the government we deserve and if we elect the greedy, self-centred, ideology driven party shits that lead us at all three levels of government then so be it.

.

A HELFY WIFESTYLE

LONG DONG TING TONG from Hong Kong has been brought to Linton by people smugglers so that she could give us all the best tips about Health and Fitness. Long Dong is very experienced at handling Tigers Penises following years of dragging them around the cage during circus performances.

The Astonisher has brunged me to Ausraria and asked me to white a corrum on healfy wifestyles so we can all wiv wong and pwosper.

Wule #1:    Pamper your body

Your body know instinctively rot it needs to wemain healfy. Therefore give it rot it ronts. It cwaves things only ren there is an imbalance and eveywon has a diffewent barance. If it cwaves chocorate then go out and buy it the biggest brock avairable.

If it wants acksahol then don’t deny it up to 0.05. Ober dat an dey say you pissed. It is rell no rat red rine is gweat for fwee wadicals and we don’t mean some of the whiters of this wag.

Wule #2: Don’t exercise unress your body demands it.

Rook at the animals. You don’t see sheeps and cattles jogging around a park an you don see dogs and cats rifting rates at the gym and chickens certainly don’t do sit-ups till their beaks turn brue.

If God wanted us to wun he would have sent down a bolt of rightening to stwike dead anyone who twied to in inwent a reel.

Wule #3: Get rots of shreep.

Health experts tell us re need eight hours of sreep a night. Rot wubbish. Re need onry five or six a night Monday to Saturday and then re just make up for the west not getting out of bed on Sunday.

This allows us to aroid doing any unnecessawy houserork - like dusting - things you use will never need dusting will they?

Wule #4: Ret your body take its own shape.

If you have a slight protubewance (wudely weferred to a Pot Berry) you are to be gwateful. Here is the ideal prace for take-aray punnets and run-aray peanuts. No stwuggling with tablecwoths and dwess to rash as rell. One only has to stand for a moment and all your wowwies can be just bwushed aray.

Wule #5: Don’t wowwy about deaf.

Re all fear deaf because rot ray beyond is unknown. Heaven, Dewil, We-incarnation? Re should have no rurry because you have no choice - rot you do in this rife determine your next rife so if you ront to ray around on crouds with your harp, eating gwapes and rotching T-Wee then that is rot you should be doing now. Prepare today for your next rife.

In Heaven there is no grass to mow, in Purgatowy the grass bends under the mower and cannot be cut and We-incarnation means the gwass just continuarry wecycles itself.

Since there are no probrems in the after-rife if you don’t have a rawn it’s a condition not to be feared.

Note: The onry difficulty is raying around in a coffin with the munchies and being unable to phone out for a Railray Hotel Pizza.

MAYBE WE SHOULD JUST LAY DOWN AND DIE NOW

One of our supposed Cadet Journalists, who should really get a life, has been storing some little newspaper gems away instead of pleasuring themselves like normal adolescents. These are real articles from the real papers and the world wide wankers thing.

CAULIFLOWER - THE FUTURE CANCER TREATMENT. (Herald-Sun 3 July 2011)

SUPER STRAWBERRIES HELP FIGHT CANCER. (Daily Telegraph 12 Jun 2011)

PURPLE ‘SUPER TOMATO’ THAT CAN FIGHT AGAINST CANCER. (Mail Online 27 Oct 2008)

OLIVE OIL COMPOUNDS MAY HELP FIGHT BREAST CANCER. (West Australian 26 Dec 2008)

MILK MAY BE KEY FACTOR TO STOP CANCER. The Advertiser 29 Aug 2008. And he we were thinking that food was just for staying alive. Lets see what illness can do for us.

ASTHMA CUTS A CANCER RISK.  (The Mercury 26 Jul 2008)

CAN A COLD KILL CANCER - TRIAL ON HUMANS.  (Daily Telegraph 14 May 2008)

SCIENCE DISHES THE DIRT—FILTH MAY STOP CANCER. (Sydney Morning Herald 10 Jan 2008) So not doing housework is good? No wander I’m healthy.  Lets see what chemicals can do after killing 99% of all germs. Didn’t they just say filth was good?

FROGGY CURES (Skins). (The National Business Review 17 Jan 2011). Who’d have thought that Princess was just kissing the frog to get herself a Prince.  The National Business Review?. Speaking of skin -

SUNSCREEN PROVEN TO PREVENT MELANOMA. (Cancer Council 7 Dec 2007) (Aust) but then again SUNSCREEN MIGHT CAUSE CANCER. (Dominion Post 15 Mar 2008) (NZ)  If you look at the publishing dates it might suggest a ploy to rid Australia of pesky Kiwi’s?

ASPIRIN CAN KEEP CANCER AT BAY. (The Mercury 10 Dec 2010)

ASPIRIN LINK TO CANCER. (Mail Online 10 Feb 2009). The latter headline was a story most likely posted by the Alternative Medicine lobby. But us boozies can beat cancer too.

WINE ‘HELPS PREVENT CANCER’ (Mail Online 18 Feb 2009) But obviously the wine lobby wanted us to drink more. So. 

HALF A GLASS OF WNE A DAY INCREASES THE RISK OF CANCER.  (Telegraph Online 28 Feb 2010)

And for the wowsers.

COFFEE MAY RAISE CHILD CANCER RISK. (Mail Online 26 Jan 2011)

COFFEE KICK STARTS GENE TO FIGHT CANCER. (Telegraph Online 17 June 2011) So don’t give children coffee - then again if they’re pregnant?

We knew it the body is doing nasty things to itself too.

PILL PREVENTS ONE CANCER BUT CAUSES OTHERS. (The Australian 26 Jan 2008). This might suggest the newspaper is having a bet each way.

EXCESSIVE SEX MAY CAUSE CANCER. (Mail Online 8 Mar 2009)

BALNESS CANCER LINK. (Daily Telegraph 17 Feb 2011) We believe that this may have been promoted by a popular Hair Clinic linked to Shane Warne. Maybe he read the previous headline about sex.

DWARFISM CAUSES CANCER. (The Age 18 Feb 2011). So steer clear of that little guy next to you. But then again they say

TALL MEN FACE HEIGHTENED RISK OF PROSTATE CANCER. (The Australian 6 Sept 2008) Besides being an awful Murdoch  pun  it leads us nicely into the next headline.

SCIENCE LINKS PROSTATE TO FINGER LENGTH.(The Courier-Mail 17 Feb 2011) So that’s why my last exam was so painful.

TOP CANCER DOCTOR SAYS YOU SHOULD HAVE A SUNBED SESSION. (Mail Online 24 Jan 2004) Something tells me this might be a Murdock rag because The Age (31 August 2010) countered with SUNBED STUDY CONFIRMS CANCER LINK.

Wey! Hey! Tell all those dancers at the rage tonight that-

ECSTACY REDUCES CANCER RISK. But maybe only in England? (UK Express 19 Aug 2011)

BOSS LESS LIKELY TO GET CANCER. (Daily Telegraph 18 Feb 2008.) That’s probably because he’s busy giving everyone else bloody ulcers.. Maybe we should be a bit tongue in cheek about the next two considering the publishing date.

INCREASED CANCER RISK FOR BARBERS. (West Australian 1 April 2008) and on the same day on the other side of the ditch

BREATHE COW DUNG, COCKIES—IT’LL CUT YOUR CANCER RISK. (NZ Herald.)That story was probably planted by a few frustrated Friesians about the sheep getting all the action.

And finally if you think that staying home and doing nothing might be the answer.

HOW USING FACEBOOK COULD RAISE YOUR RISK OF CANCER. (Mail Online July 2011)

Our thanks to the Chaser boy.

HYPOCHONDRIA AND DEATH

It might just be me slowly sinking into what used to be called senile dementia. I’ve been having a few bad experiences lately trying to keep up with the increasingly strange experiences with my farm animals. Who was it that first said ‘It’s either me or them’

As I write this it is a beautiful, crisp Victorian country winter having survived the frost and pea soup fog of the morning the sun is out and the birds have stopped shivering. I dread the early hours for it is then that Maxine or one of the other critters will meander up to the front door just to say hello or send me some cryptic message. I’m never sure when I’m half awake whether it’s the fog of my failing eyes or my petrifying brain from which they emerge.

One morning last week I was greeted by Maxine wearing a pair of my Y-fronts over her nose and mouth with the leg holes tucked behind her ears. Where she found them is beyond my reckoning but there she was fully protected I assumed against Swine Flu. I’d had a bit of an inkling that something was going on when she constantly decimated any hay bales I left laying around leaving herself huffing and puffing in the process. But she is a very experienced hypochondriac. Through the Bird Flee outbreak even the battalions of local Cockatoo’s, as gregarious as they can be, dared to land anywhere near her.

I remembered reading to them about the Three Little Pigs for it is just now that I’ve seen Maxine searching all the corners of the property probably in search of a little house made of sticks to check out if the occupants are running a fever or not. She has yet to realise there is a pile of bricks behind the shed.

A neighbour did warn me about reading them bed-time stories, especially the one about ‘Mary and her little lamb’. This one caused my Mary to look at her newborn twins and wander if she might need an optometrist as she seemed to be seeing double. The ‘white as snow’ bit also caused her consternation as she’s a black-faced Suffolk and her new off-spring looked like two emaciated Blue Heelers.

I don’t like ending stories on a sad note but if I am to remain chronological in my meanderings then it has to be so.

Yesterday afternoon at feeding time, after separating out the alpacas and corralling the sheep so they didn’t hassle each other, then tying up the goat so he couldn’t hassle the alpacas or the sheep, I noticed the horses where nowhere in sight. I fed the various groups and was hand-feeding Bill when behind me came the thunder of hooves. The Clydesdale, who just adores bread, pushed in to get a share of Bill’s dinner. Giving her a good whack on the rump and reinforcing that with ‘p… off’ she backed away.

What I did not see was that her hind legs had caught themselves up in Bill’s tether. As she backed away he was pulled under her back legs like the rabbit on a greyhound track. The mare becoming startled at suddenly noticing something hairy between her legs lurched wildly off. Unfortunately Bill went with her at an astonishing speed and was subsequently strangled by his own collar wrapped around the horses’ hooves.

Mercifully it was a quick end, the mare sensing something awful, hung around Bill’s body for at least an hour occasionally sniffing it. Maybe she knew something terrible had happened, who is to know. Well, as Ned Kelly said ‘such is life’.

Late last night I lowered him into the ‘Pit of Death’, lit an incense stick and played Bill Grogan’s ‘Goat Song’.

But before everyone lights candles and starts singing ‘Kumbaya’ it may be wise to know my misadventures will still continue next month.

GODFREY ZONE

A THOUGHT FOR THE MONTH

Who in their right mind would carry political correctness to such an extent that a recent sale described a high quality horse whip as a Horse Pacifier?
Pacifiers for Americans are Dummies to us.
Dummies to us are Americans.
Now I’ll just go and pacify myself a milkshake.