I’d like to introduce you to my doctor and friend, Act Hod Romp. Now this might seem like a funny name for my doctor, but I have had to protect his name by using a secret code due to medical ethics, secrecy and also to protect the innocent. The picture of him accompanying this post has also been airbrushed and cigar-modified to protect his identity. I apologise in advance for these minor yet fully intentionally false statements.
Anyway, to my little tale of today. As you can guess, I had an appointment with my doctor, Act Hod Romp. Well, to be precise, he is a skin doctor and a great guy, even though he wields a pretty nasty scalpel or two. I know there is a technical name for a skin doctor, but as everyone knows, my spelling is rubbish, so I won’t even try that word starting with derm something.
Now all goes well when I enter and have a little chat with his really stunningly cute receptionist/nurse and applier of sticking plaster and sympathy. It’s a pity I am one hundred years older than her, or I might have been courageous enough to ask her her name. So, due to my cowardice and age, she will have to remain anonymous. Pity. We have only met ten times, so one day, I may grow a mane and become a man and ask her what the hell her name is. Anyway, I digressed.
Back to Act Hod Romp, my friend and wielder of scalpels, lover of blues and Douglas Adams. (Guessed right. My fault there. I just happened to mention DA once, and the damage was done. Now I have surgery accompanied by questions about 42, towels and why Deep Thought was so important.) So, back once again to the tale.
After our usual greetings and Douglas discussion, my friend/doctor/surgeon gets organised, sterilised and prepares to anaesthetise. This last bit is normally, well, uncomfortable, and we discuss the life, the universe and everything while he goes about dosing up some part of my body with a shot or five of a burning, scolding, bitterly painful dose of local anaesthetic. Usually, this results in a slight, almost unnoticeable clenching of my fists and curling of my toes.
Except today. The shot or five of a burning, scolding, bitterly painful dose of local anaesthetic was skilfully delivered to the tip of my little biddy, extra sensitive and very tender proboscis. Or nose for short. Now, there was some clenching and curling for sure, but mostly, there were screams of pain and totally held under my breath Australian curses.
However, after the five excruciating shots into my tender little nose, and the passing thought of strangling the sadistic little bastard, we returned to normality from the improbability drive of intense pain and suffering and carried on with our discussion about learning Japanese by Christmas.
Oh, and by the way, whatever needed removing was removed. Pain and guilt-free, and we remain the best of friends.
