Broken bones . . . (episode 64)

Image by 'stockdevil'

Image by ‘stockdevil’

May 16 1999

401B Concrete Shacks

What ho! Auntie

Long time no hear. Are you still alive? Looking forward to seeing a green-inked, lavender-scented, missive in the post as I feel I may be missing something!

Wonderful tidings with regard to Mandie (or perhaps I am being a little hard . . .) who was flattened under a road haulage truck a week ago now. Apparently, and I have this on good authority from a piece I read in the Wortlewell Gazette, she was crossing the road while engrossed in some paperwork she was carrying. And that’s how she came to break every bone in her body. Imagine! I expect she will be laid up for a very long time (yippee!) and I enclose a cut-out of just one of her injuries. Perhaps she was gazing at the next lovelorn note she was planning to deliver to my address? In any event, it has saved me from an unknown – and unimaginable – fate on the decks of the oil rig Tartan Theta.

The incident did, however, cause me to ponder upon the impermanence of Life and the possible non-existence of the Future. And gazing further at multiple photos of Carpool University Hospital, also featuring in the newspaper article, I came to a resolution about my Future. I decided that, as one who has always cared devotedly for any number of domestic spiders (and fruit flies) – all named ‘Cyril’ – that I am obviously one who is destined to care more deeply for injured members of the human race – but maybe not Mandie.

So Auntie, you will be pleased to hear that I pretty much immediately leaped upon the number 425 bus and sped off towards Carpool University Hospital to enrol. I wasn’t too sure what I was going to enrol in, but I was determined to enrol in something! (It must surely be possible to leave a lifetime of state benefits and the inhalation of Glu-stik behind me?) I must say that the exterior of the Carpool University Hospital – with its cracked, and smoke-stained, concrete façade – was not exactly uplifting to the spirits. And rising up through the levels on an escalator which only gave views on to closed doors and endless shiny-floored corridors, did also make me feel that colour and humour might also have been excluded. However, as you know, I am not the kind of male likely to be daunted by the promptings of instinct, or the subtlety of a wisdom known only to the unconscious man.

I reached the enrolment department Auntie. Nurse enrolment. And I somehow stated to my female interlocutor that my main sphere of interest – and experience – was in the realm of mental health. I naturally did not mention that it was my own mental health (or lack of it) that rendered me suitable for a placement on a student nursing course. And then it turned out that one cannot start out as a trainee mental health nurse; one has to do the general nursing course first. I feel rather dubious about this Auntie. I have a particular aversion to the sight of blood (and even worse feelings about other, less delectable, body fluids) – so I am not sure how I would fare in the Accident and Emergency, and Intensive Care, departments. However, I filled in the application form – on the spot – and am wondering if you can give me a reference? Please make no mention of that time I spent in the Wortlewell Drug Rehabilitation Clinic and refer only to my (undoubted) worth and good character!

I do hope you are feeling better now Auntie? Are you?

Toodle pip!



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