It’s true, you know. Find out more here; and here. And this afternoon, I became just another statistic.
My sadly-neglected using-the-drought-as-a-cop-out garden needed some attention, so I hacked away at some foliage and had done a pretty good job with the secateurs until I added the middle finger of my left hand to the off cuts. Only the tip, mind you, but there was a fair bit of Type-O flowing out of the incision.
Larry & Curly were nearby and they ran in to alert TLOML that I’d done something stupid. She came out with the First Aid kit and calmly dressed the wound while I calmly submitted to her tender care.
Dismissing her protests, I drove myself to the local GP, reasoning that as he seems to enjoy the odd bit of slice and sew, he’d see me straight away. But the hard-working medico was enjoying a well-deserved break on this Easter Monday. As was the local 7-11 clinic.
I’d heard that you can get prompt attention at John Fawkner Private Hospital Emergency Dept in Coburg on your Private Health Insurance so I headed up there. I was just explaining what had happened to the nurse at reception when she asked me to read the sign on the window.
Minimum charge is $250 and this is NOT covered by any Private Health Insurance.
The NOT was in big red letters. “Okay, I’ll head down to Royal Melbourne”, I told them, also in big red letters.
At RMH, I waited for what must have been a record short time. About 45 minutes. Then the nice doctor, who was a Scot, told me all I’d need would be a dressing and a tetanus shot.
“Are you sure it will be okay?”
“Oh aye, that top flap will joost dai orf and then new skin will grow oop ter tairk its plairce. Yerr’ll be fain.”
I looked a little skeptical.
“Unless yer one o’ these Munchausen bastards, o’ course, ‘cos then we’ll have ter bring in the psychies.” he said reaching for the phone.
“No, no don’t be silly, I know how to take fair and impartial medical advice.”
Finger dressed, shot in arm administered, I was oan muh wair.
“Eh, yerr’ll noat bi Jimmy Pairgin’ oop any fretboards fer a wee whail, but if ye nid to be givin’ anywoon the finger, the dressin' should provaide ardded emphasis fer ye,” Doc Trainspotting said as I was leaving.
When I arrived home, hale and hearty, TLOML greeted me like I was returning from a lengthy hospitalization. So why was I disappointed that she didn’t tell me I was her brave little soldier? Freud could probably tell you.