Sixty

Please, take a seat. What can I do for you today?

The Doctor waved me to a chair in his office. I eyed him suspiciously. He looked like a child's drawing of a man and I make a note of never trusting children's drawings.

I moved to the offered chair and tentatively sat down.

I hurt my rib at the weekend. In fact, I think I might have broken it.

I pressed a hand lightly to the affected area on my chest and hoped that he realised I was trying to demonstrate where it hurt and that I was not about to hop up and start Boyband singing.

Broken it? Ouch, that would hurt eh!

He seemed all too cheery about the idea of me being in pain. I scowled and imagined coming back in two months with the beaty stick. We would see who was laughing then.

Yes, it hurts when I breathe, when I sneeze or cough or sleep or lie down. It pretty much hurts when I do anything.

I felt my voice wobble slightly. I tried to reign myself in, the last thing I needed was Dr Scribble taking advantage of me when I was weak. You know what Doctors are like, give them an inch and they will have their finger in your arse and be working you like a tupenny puppet at the Christmas fair.

Sounds like it could be broken, hmmm? Sounds... broken'y...

He wiggled his face in a way that doubtless his wife thought was cute but actually made him look like some kind of deep see worm caught in a fisherman net.

I glowered at him. It was bloody easier to draw a square around a Nun's tit than to get a same day's Doctor Appointment these days. The least you could expect if you lucked out and got one was to get someone who actually seemed like a Doctor?

I do think it is broken because when the incident happened I heard sort of click/crack kinda noise.

I winced at the memory.

Well, that will be it then. Definitely broken I would say.

Dr Scribble beamed with satisfaction and looked down at his notes of which there were none and then back at me.

Sooo, anything else I can help you with?

He blinked then blinked again.

It is quite painful and I can't do anything because everything is painful. Even sleeping is painful.

I clenched my teeth as if pulling myself up out of the sea on to a limpet encrusted rock.

Yes, it can be a painful thing. Oh, Oh, I know. Would you like some strong painkillers. The really strong ones?

He looked around him as if worried that Carrie Underwood was going to burst into the room and make him sing a duet of Jesus, Take the Wheel with her

Yes please, the strongest painkillers known to man would be lovely, thank you.

Some people were weird about pills. Not I, even after that unfortunate incident with the Red pill some years ago.

Okay-dokay, let's see, eight a day for five days... Is forty enough to see you through??

He hovered a finger over a button on his keyboard expectantly.

I looked at him and gently cupped at my breast again as if threatening him with a good moob feeding.

Ah yes, perhaps not forty. Sixty? That should do it.

He hit the button and a prescription started printing out. He tore it off the printer then handed it to me.

If there isn't any improvement in two weeks, come back and see me... Or better yet, get up that hospital! Ha!

He chuckled hugely and I smiled as I took the script for the sixty magic beans out of his hand.

It might have been nice to get some advice on what to do to help get better but I supposed painkillers were better than nothing.

After all, I could always come back with the beaty stick.