Monday, 16 November 2015
Ha freaking ha
It's time for another post about the Call Gods. Yes indeed, yet another goddamned post about the goddamned Call Gods. I can hear several of you groaning, "Not another Call Gods post! We're sick of hearing Doc's paranoia about them, especially since they don't exist."
And that's where you're wrong, nonbeliever. They exist. Oh, do they ever exist.
What, you don't believe me? Still? How is that even possible? Are you even listening?? After everything I've told you, you still don't believe me?
Juuuuuust wait. You will. And by the end of this post if you still haven't converted to my weird little religion, then you obviously haven't been paying attention this whole time, and you should probably head off to YouTube to search for some fail videos or something. Or maybe go check out fmylife.com. Either one will make you feel just that much better about your own life.
Where was I? Oh right, I was talking about myself as usual. Anyway, in addition to the fucking Call Gods (Ha ha! Just kidding, Call Gods! Please have mercy!) I also talk about appendicitis a lot, because I see it a lot. It seems to me sometimes that I'm curing the world of appendiceal disease one person at a time. But lately I've been in a bit of an appendix lull. I haven't taken out an appendix in about a month, whereas I usually do at least one or two a week, if not more.
Hear that foreboding music yet?
This morning as I showered (stop picturing me nude, you perverts) I was thinking "Wow, I haven't done an appy in a while. How long has it been?" It had been at least three weeks, and I couldn't remember ever going so long between appys. So I tried to remember the last one I did.
The call from the emergency doc predictably and inevitably came at 4 PM (at least it wasn't midnight, right): a healthy 62-year old guy with, you guessed it, acute appendicitis. I went to the hospital to do the surgery, which turned out to be uncomplicated and relatively easy. But just as I was finishing up, my mobile in my pocket rang. "There is my next appendix," I joked with the staff. I finished up and took the man to recovery.
Much to my relief, the call had been from a friend, not from the emergency doc again. WHEW. I changed clothes and got in my car, happy I would be home in time for dinner and my kids' bedtime.
I hadn't even pulled out of my parking space when my mobile rang again. I recognised the caller ID immediately - the ER/A&E. And as you've probably surmised by now, it was indeed yet another appendicitis patient. As I write this, I'm sitting in the operating theatre waiting for him to come up from emergency. I've now missed dinner, and my kids will be fast asleep by the time I get home. Mrs. Bastard too, most likely.
Fuck you for ruining yet another evening with my family, Call Gods. Fuck you.
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