“How are you with needles?”
“I’m not in love with them, but I won’t pass-out or anything” I reply to the woman I assume to be a doctor. She’s quite pretty, actually.
“I’m more concerned about you jerking your arm when I stick you and smacking me in the face.” She replies drily, making me like her even more.
“No, I’ll be fine.”
By the smell, I deduce that I’m in a hospital and not a doctor’s surgery. It’s a pretty recognisable smell. And by the noise I’m in A&E and not an in-patient ward. Yet.
“You’ll feel a scratch.” They always say that. What they mean is ‘you’ll feel a fucking nasty sharp thing going into your arm’.
After several attempts she finds a vein and takes some blood.
“So. You’ve had these seizures before?”
My boss sticks her head round the door – surprising me - and gives me my wallet and mobile phone. I thank her, still very unsure of what is happening, tell her I’m fine and that she should go back to work.
Quite Fit Doctor asks who she was.
Me: Oh. That was my boss.
QFD: She came in with you. With the paramedics. She’s lovely.
Me: Ok. How long have I been here?
QFD: A while. You seem to be coming out of it pretty quickly so we’ll do your bloods and if that’s all fine you can go.
My head is fuzzy and I try and remember any recent events, none of which involve paramedics or hospitals. I do, however, recall a pleasant conversation with a female colleague, to whom I was bemoaning some upcoming social plans which involved visiting the gay quarter of the city I work in, on the insistence of Uncannily Similar who enjoys ‘the vibe’.
Me: It’s just, you know, I … Get a lot of male attention. Which is all good, but…. I’d just rather NOT. It’s sort of awkward. You know?
To which she replied:
“Well of course you do! It's because you’re handsome and you’re really slim.”
Which was possibly the nicest thing anyone has said to me ever, and was of course completely insincere and really meant:
“Well of course you do! It's because YOU’RE THE GAYEST STRAIGHT MAN I’VE EVER MET YOU CAMP SKINNY FUCK!”
But I took it anyway.
Some time passes. A locum in scrubs sticks his head round the door.
Locum: Oh. Hi. Who’s your doctor?
Me: Ermm. Not sure of the name. Dark hair. Quite attractive.
Locum: Ok. [Starts to leave. Stops. Turns back with a puzzled/incredulous look] What? FEMALE?
Me: What? YES! FUCK!
Locum: Alriiiiiight. [Spreads his palms in supplication] I just thought you were... you know…
Me: Well I’m NOT. When am I getting my blood results? And where can I go for a cigarette?
I’m discharged an hour later.