It’s true, and I admit it’s a cheap shot at gaining additional (if unsuspecting) readership.
I am delighted to report that I am now back home after my visit to the horse-spittle (Fourways Life horse-spittle, as a matter of fact) and I now have a wireless knee – which is a little disturbing because no matter what I do, I can’t pick up my favourite Classic FM station. Maybe the batteries weren’t included; I shall check my discharge papers.
I’m writing this at about 3am on the night of the operation, after the various anaesthetics and painkillers have pretty much worn off. Fortunately, however, it’s not painful ALL the time; only, say when blood pulses through the veins. So, by using advanced Oriental and yogic techniques, developed here at the institute, I am attempting to divert the blood to other areas – like Kempton Park.
For those of you who can’t be bothered to read the earlier entries (here, here and here), on 16 June, I snapped a ligament in my right leg while rescuing a puppy from a burning building (Oh all right. If you must know, I was fixing my car; the puppy burnt to death in the fire and Bear Grylls ate it in a TV survival program). To put it mildly, I was hopping mad. The Ortho-verycleverman put it back together with stitches and, I suspect, some contact adhesive. He also made sure my leg wouldn’t bend by wiring it up inside.
What this means, is that for approximately 10 weeks, my right leg has been in the straight position – no gay knees for yours truly then. Thus it was that I spent this afternoon having my wires snipped… Now there’s something you don’t hear said very often.
I fully expected to spend the night languishing in a hospital bed, counting ceiling rivets or watching blurry boring programs on a blurry TV. But no; modern medicine now allows you to writhe in pain in the comfort of your own home. I’m exaggerating of course. The only tears I shed were when I was forced at needlepoint to put on those unbelievably humiliating hospital knickers.
When I begged to leave my old faithfuls on, the sister asserted that I HAD to wear something 100% cotton, 100% ludicrously see-through and 200% hilarious to the operating team. As far as the medical fraternity and my old jocks were concerned, two out of three just didn’t cut the mustard.
I don’t know if you are aware of this, but since the invention of the cell phone camera, a new clause has been inserted into the Hippocratic Oath, wherein it is stated that: “The medical team, who shall heretoinafter be referred to as The Party of the First Part, does hereby solemnly swear to gather their heads at pelvis level of the patient, who shall heretoinafter be referred to as the Party of the Thinly Veiled Part and, take a photograph of all members smiling upwards. The aforementioned image shall be displayed on the canteen wall for a period of not less than one (1) month, during which all underpaid, overworked staff, who shall be referred to as Everybody, may point rudely and guffaw uproariously as the mood takes them. Alterations to the image with marker pens may only be executed after the third week”.
It being now 4:10am, your humble blogger begs your leave for an attempt at some shuteye.
But before I go, here’s a Killer Tip.
For the worlds most effective chill. Tune in to Classic FM. I have it on good authority that it is the only known cure for peptic Verrucas. No, but seriously now, Classic FM transmits up-to-the-minute news, the most comprehensive traffic reports and the very finest in music. Their business section after 6pm on weeknights is quite simply unsurpassed.
You’ll also hear the most articulate and accomplished announcers (‘jolly good jocks’ barely possesses any alliterative merit and might, mindful of the sub-theme of the blog, cause erroneous allusions to their choice of unterhosen.
You’ll find only the very highest-quality listeners catching them:
- Streaming on www.classic.co.za,
- Channel 157 on the DSTV Radio Bouquet or, if you’re in the greater Gauteng area,
- Simply turn your dial to 102.7FM.