Day 73
You may remember that just before Christmas I had to go for my annual check-up at the doctor’s surgery that involved a particularly unpleasant examination with a latex glove and a tube of petroleum jelly.
You’ll be delighted to hear I’m not going to relive that experience with you but today’s post is connected with it.
Every once in a while an old kidney problem rears its head and I take tablets to stem the pain. Although it’s not a serious ailment, it is nonetheless the cause of some exasperation, so having the correct kind of medication to hand is pretty useful.
I usually get a little bottle of pills two or three times a year and swallow a couple of tablets when needed. Today I collected my prescription as usual and trotted off to the pharmacy to get it filled, but rather than receiving the normal friendly looking brown bottle I was given an oblong white box.
I shrugged, assuming the manufacturer had altered their packaging and went back to the car.
This was as far as my good fortune went for the day.
On closer inspection, it wasn’t the box that sent me into a panic; it was the line of text underneath the stick-on label.
‘Use only as directed - not for oral consumption’
With shaking hands I opened the packet and scrutinized its contents.
My worst fears were realized…rather than swallowing them I have to stick them in.
I’d have been worried if they were tiny round things like orange pips but these were about the same size and shape as a cruise missile. What’s more, there was a folded sheet of paper with instructions…and illustrations.
Cute little cartoon drawings of an androgynous person with a big smile across their face were shown bending over and shoving one of these fucking great big tablets up their backside. I can envisage a number of emotions I’ll have immediately prior to inserting a large alien object into my bottom but I’m almost certain that happiness won’t be one of them.
The more I thought about it, the more worried I became.
What if I can’t get it in properly when I need it?
What if it slips off the end of my finger and I have to chase it around the bathroom floor on my hands and knees?
What happens if I get really scared a fraction of a second after it goes in, clench my butt cheeks and it fires across the room like a bullet?
Not to mention the social aspects.
I can picture myself at a sophisticated dinner party and feel a twinge as the brandy is being served. I could hardly be honest about it…
“That was a wonderful meal, the wine was perfect and the company a delight. Now, if you’ll just excuse me while I nip to the bathroom and shove a large piece of medical artillery up my arsehole…”
I might take them back to my doctor and ask for a packet of Aspirin instead.
On an even less inspiring note, I can once more offer nothing approaching good news relating to my exploits at the poker tables. I managed to finish once more in the top 100 but sadly outside of the money. When I was playing at my original chosen site (who have decided to cut their potential clientele by a few thousand and stop freeroll competitions) the donks seemed to be eliminated after the first couple of hours. On my new choice, they appear to settle into their beds of straw for the entire event. Maybe I should start playing stupidly again rather than just crap.
I’ll try it tomorrow.
I checked on the Internet after my mishap at the tables to see what action I could take to assist my body in preventing any more outbreaks of my kidney trouble and was delighted to discover that drinking came top of the list.
Although I’m sure that the author of the article was referring to water, I have taken the obvious viewpoint that any liquid intake would be beneficial. As such I have purchased a couple of extra cases of beer and shall tell Mrs. Snowman that they are for medical purposes.
If she tells me that water is better for me, I shall counter with the stance taken by WC Fields, who said with shining clarity:
“I don’t drink water because fish fuck in it”
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.
You’ll be delighted to hear I’m not going to relive that experience with you but today’s post is connected with it.
Every once in a while an old kidney problem rears its head and I take tablets to stem the pain. Although it’s not a serious ailment, it is nonetheless the cause of some exasperation, so having the correct kind of medication to hand is pretty useful.
I usually get a little bottle of pills two or three times a year and swallow a couple of tablets when needed. Today I collected my prescription as usual and trotted off to the pharmacy to get it filled, but rather than receiving the normal friendly looking brown bottle I was given an oblong white box.
I shrugged, assuming the manufacturer had altered their packaging and went back to the car.
This was as far as my good fortune went for the day.
On closer inspection, it wasn’t the box that sent me into a panic; it was the line of text underneath the stick-on label.
‘Use only as directed - not for oral consumption’
With shaking hands I opened the packet and scrutinized its contents.
My worst fears were realized…rather than swallowing them I have to stick them in.
I’d have been worried if they were tiny round things like orange pips but these were about the same size and shape as a cruise missile. What’s more, there was a folded sheet of paper with instructions…and illustrations.
Cute little cartoon drawings of an androgynous person with a big smile across their face were shown bending over and shoving one of these fucking great big tablets up their backside. I can envisage a number of emotions I’ll have immediately prior to inserting a large alien object into my bottom but I’m almost certain that happiness won’t be one of them.
The more I thought about it, the more worried I became.
What if I can’t get it in properly when I need it?
What if it slips off the end of my finger and I have to chase it around the bathroom floor on my hands and knees?
What happens if I get really scared a fraction of a second after it goes in, clench my butt cheeks and it fires across the room like a bullet?
Not to mention the social aspects.
I can picture myself at a sophisticated dinner party and feel a twinge as the brandy is being served. I could hardly be honest about it…
“That was a wonderful meal, the wine was perfect and the company a delight. Now, if you’ll just excuse me while I nip to the bathroom and shove a large piece of medical artillery up my arsehole…”
I might take them back to my doctor and ask for a packet of Aspirin instead.
On an even less inspiring note, I can once more offer nothing approaching good news relating to my exploits at the poker tables. I managed to finish once more in the top 100 but sadly outside of the money. When I was playing at my original chosen site (who have decided to cut their potential clientele by a few thousand and stop freeroll competitions) the donks seemed to be eliminated after the first couple of hours. On my new choice, they appear to settle into their beds of straw for the entire event. Maybe I should start playing stupidly again rather than just crap.
I’ll try it tomorrow.
I checked on the Internet after my mishap at the tables to see what action I could take to assist my body in preventing any more outbreaks of my kidney trouble and was delighted to discover that drinking came top of the list.
Although I’m sure that the author of the article was referring to water, I have taken the obvious viewpoint that any liquid intake would be beneficial. As such I have purchased a couple of extra cases of beer and shall tell Mrs. Snowman that they are for medical purposes.
If she tells me that water is better for me, I shall counter with the stance taken by WC Fields, who said with shining clarity:
“I don’t drink water because fish fuck in it”
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.