Tales of a cyclist: Part 4 - The Hysterical Doctor

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Now you have that disturbing image burned back into your mind, we can continue from where we left off.

I arrived at work, my hands shaking involuntarily and feeling a tad lightheaded from the excessive amounts of adrenaline pumping around my body. Good news was that this magic hormone had worked wonders on my pain receptors, could barely feel a thing. However the shakes did mean that locking my bike was a little trickier than usual, eventually managing to fumble my way through it.

I made my way inside, cupping my hands under my chin valiantly trying to save the newly polished floor. Then straight to the bathroom, ignoring the exchange of pleasantries that I usually share with the security guard. Looking in the mirror I lifted my chin, a deep 2 inch gash was staring back. Placing my hands either side of the cut I pulled it apart, there was the bone. Just to be certain, I repeated the process, it reminded me of Ace Ventura talking with his arse. Taking some hand towels I covered my chin, in a pathetic attempt to stop further leakage.

I dropped my kit off at my desk and told my boss what had happened, purposely leaving out the 'finer details'. I even gave him my best impression of good ol' Ace.

"Excuse me I'd like to 'ass' you some questions."

Not sure the impersonation went down too well or maybe it was just the sight of blood, but his face went white and he looked as if he was going to chuck up his bacon and eggs. Anyway he ordered me off to hospital.

Now usually I am not one for hospitals, other than for severed appendages. A plaster and a sit down would have been my solution. But in this case I did have a legitimate reason to have a couple hours off work, how could I turn that down?

Luckily one of my colleagues overheard my predicament and offered to give me a lift, saving me from walking the 3 miles to the nearest hospital. After all I wasn't going to get fucking public transport!

10 minutes in the car without getting any blood on the upholstery, I was so pleased with myself. I thanked my driver and went inside.

The reception looked like an aquarium, sealed with glass from waist height to ceiling. The fish inside mumbled inaudibly, I shouted my name and address at them and pointed to my cut. Another mumble, they then proceeded to push wet wipes into one of those sliding air lock contraptions that you usually find in a bank. I took the wipes and sat back down, I guess I would be summoned when they wanted me.

An hour later they called my name, by that time I had used up my supply of wipes and there was a little pool of blood on the floor. I quickly walked away from it pretending it wasn't mine, I was led through a pair of double doors and into a curtain palisaded cubicle. Once there, I was told to sit on the bed and wait for the doctor. So I put my feet up and chilled, humming the tune to Queen's Another one bites the dust, not sure how that popped into my head.

Eventually the doc arrived, closing the curtain behind him. I sat up as he turned toward me, he looked so young, I know all old people say that but blimey. My initial thoughts were, when was the real doctor coming, this kid has only just finished high school. He started by saying, "Hello my name is doctor...", he stammered for a minute as his phone went off. I seized the opportunity and responded with, "Dre, Octavius, Kimble, Lector, McCoy...Dr Who?" He let out a little chuckle and continued, "My name is Doctor Drake, so what seems to be the matter today?"

Credit

"Well I fell off my bike and landed on my chin and I may have also tweaked my wrist."

He put on his latex gloves and started moving my wrist in all directions, then he squeezed and I let out a yelp. It was very tender but he concluded that it was just badly sprained.

Next he asked me to lay down so he could have a good look at the damage. He prodded and poked it for a few moments, even doing his own Ace Ventura movements, before saying, "I can see the bone so you are going to need stitches, I will give it a clean, administer a local anesthetic and then pop a few in."

He collected all the kit required for the procedure and got to work cleaning the wound and administering the local. Whilst waiting for the anesthetic to kick in he asked the dreaded question, "So how did you fall off your bike, was it the ice?"

To be fair I should have expected the question and prepared a more respectable lie, but he had caught me completely off guard and I just blurted it out, "It was a dildo."

He was taken a back, "A hobo did this?"

Credit

Phew he had misheard me, but now I was in a very difficult predicament, what was worse, running over a homeless person or the truth? I contemplated it for a few seconds and decided that hitting a hobo painted me in a bad light, so I told the truth, "No no no... a dildo."

His expression was classic. He went from professional junior doctor, to giddy teenager staring at private parts on page 78 of his high school anatomy textbook, in a matter of nanoseconds. Yes I remember the page number, don't judge me! He was laughing so much that he actually had to leave the cubicle.

Upon his return he apologised for his lack of professionalism. I responded with, "Don't worry about it, I would have done the exact same." He finished off patching me up and gave me some pain killers, we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, hopefully never to meet again...

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Part 5 The eternal infernal squeak