HUMOR
Blood Tests II
The Saga Continues…
In the previous episodes…
You read that one already? Fab, let’s go with Blood Tests II! Ready? GO!
Alright, I must admit my total, thorough defeat. Despite my daily prayers and sacrifices (once, I offered a chunk of KitKat) to the congregation of Worldwide Deities Inc., I was forced to take another blood test. I know, I know, the NHS can’t force you to get stabbed with a goddamn needle but they sort of tricked me into it. Let me explain myself.
Actually, no. There ain’t much to be explained.
The thing is they refused to give me a bloody prescription for my medication. When I ordered it through the app (by the way, it’s fantastic, you don’t have to beg the smart-ass doctor not in person nor by phone no more), instead of hearing the satisfactory ping! saying that my request was accepted and I was free to pick up the shit from my local pharmacy, I received the nightmarest of the calls.
Is this Matt?
You got it. Who’s speaking?
This is Lynwood Surgery, I’m calling about…
Yhello doctor, I cut in.
It’s the receptionist, and…
I don’t even let her finish the sentence and I say, all good in the hood, thanks for approving my… but she interrupts me too and
The last blood test you took was a year ago
Correct. My very final one.
Well, some of your values weren’t ok so we need another check before approving your request.
What?
Is next Monday ok for you?
I…
9 am?
A — M?
You still there?
I was. But, truth be told, my stomach was already rollercoastering on a tsunami, I was sweating and, fuck, my day was 360 degrees ruined forever.
I am, I replied, or so I think.
Marvellous. I’ll see you on Monday.
Marvellous my ass, I said, but the phone line already clicked off and I was left alone with my sorrow, my mind ruffled by the cruellest of the thunderstorms. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What now?
I started crunching data, possible options and insane ideas like an Apple iProcessor on iCocaine. My first thought was obvious: pack your bags and leave the f**ucking country. Find a place in the world where you can get omeprazole without a goddamn prescription. It was a brilliant solution, I was already mental-picking the right suitcase for this li’l escape when a second possibility came to my mind: bribe the nurse. Give her a tenner and tell her to stick the bloody needle into her arm, on your behalf. Genius. Then I thought, maybe two fivers aren’t enough for the greedy witch and I ain’t no rich tycoon so I had to come up with a third outstanding idea for my teeny-tiny issue.
No third idea surfaced to mind.
I was completely, totally screwed.
With my heart drumrolling like a marching band at full throttle, I pondered and wondered and, mate, I told me self, you are 36 y.o., aren’t you old enough for… I didn’t even finish my imaginary question because the answer was clearly, plainly no. No. NO. I was desperate. Lost. And then…
Google!
Yes, Google was the answer. Google has/owns all the answers. I know people that looked up how to do the laundry without asking mum, how to type how to and I bet someone even googled how to wipe my arse. If Google is capable of helping all the misfits and the class-A losers of this world, couldn’t it sort me out of my gargantuan problem? I decided to go all in. I typed:
How to overcome needle phobia.
to be continued…
Tune back in on Thursday the 22nd of December and you’ll find the link to the totally unworthy-of-your-time follow-up story right here! Or subscribe to my whatevers. Or bookmark this page. Or call me, yeah, call me and I’ll read the next chapter to you before bed. Maybe not. Wanna try? Anyway… what?? Already? Shoot, here it is
Matt Youth was born somewhere on bloody Saint Valentine’s day and he’s not dead yet. Even so, he’s extremely famous. You can check all his miserable, disastrous attempts of changing the world — and other enchanting adventures — on www.mattyouth.com