Over the past few days it has flared up and has been rather unbearable.
Today i decided to go to the doctor to see if i could get this all sorted. This meant cancling on DS and our plan to see The Hurt Locker before he returned to Scotland. Which i felt rather bad about canceling last night but it had to be done.
This morning i woke up.
9 am or so, mothers voice, she was going out shopping.
The kind of conversation in the hall where my parents bump into each other and discuss everything openly with a back and forth.
Despite the acoustics in this house allowing for my music to remain in my room, my parents conversations be left in their room when the door is closed, or the tv to be unheard, again if the doors are closed.
The Kitchen and the dogs can be heard however if the tv room door is open, like it frequently can be if no one is in there such as the day time.
The corridor, all 10 or so metre's or more, is free reign however.
So parents natter back and forth,
"Oh "such and such" has to go to the doctor with his rash" Says the dad.
"oh right yeah, he usually see's "Female doctor whatserface".
"Yeah i think so, i have to call them this morning and make an appointment"
Here's me half asleep still trying to understand digital numbers telling me time on the phone when i hear a voice in my head.
"I've seen all the doctors, and i only remember the name of your one, i saw him last, make it him."
Alas i did not say this, i weant back to sleep.
10 am woken by The Dad and told i have an appointment with "Female doctor whatserface" at ....11....
So i get up.
I give my disheveled self a look over, ooo no rash, no spots, ah but it's a tricky little prick like that, granted in two hours i'll be a poke-a-dot dress of spots.
So slap on minimalist "i'm sick, and at home" cloths and saunter down to the kitchen.
The doors are open, instantly in my dazed and groggy state i interject to The Dad that "so the dogs are out?"
"Yeah".
Not a why, not they shat all over the shop, not they were bold, not the floor is covered in spongy stuffing fluff (which it was), no just a "Yeah".
Breakfast. 4 slice's of toast and orange juice, fuck porridge, i'm groggy grumpy and grouch-like, too much effort.
The Dad re-enters and says: "there was also an appointment for 1030 but i didn;t think you'd be...(ready/up) in time."
"Right so" i said or thought. Slightly scoffing at the idea i couldn't get up in a hurry. Which i can, but couldn't be arsed to do right now.
A look at the faced clock, a few seconds and chews later i "clock" what the time is and it says 10.13 or so.
Pat Kenny had just started and they were blabbering on about the Lisbon treaty, and BANAMA legislation, all going woosh while at the same time stealing tid bits of whats said to strike one sided discussion's with The Dad (his sided, no real side but he'll talk about it at length anyway).
Right now, walk to the pantry, gingerly pull out some underwear from the growing pile of washing, all mine, and off to shower.
Shower.
Dry oneself, safe in the fact that the idea of my time of appointment is 11.30. (see earlier)
While drying my toes and balancing on one leg with the towel still wrapped around my waist i hear.
"Are you ready "Such and such"?"
"Eh... yeah... Just let me get dressed????"
Flummoxed i scurry to pull on my unironed underwear, hop over the half-never-used Lateral Tighe Trainer (that i dragged out with very good intentions of using it), T-shirt.
Comb hair in tiny square mirror on desk, to lazy to move uniforms off door frame of big antique wardrobe.
No shave, socks on, shite didn't cut nails. Still no spots.
Light jumper, light jumper, fuck only wooly ones left, wait, ah ha, grey featureless top, bingo!
Well worn, ie need to be washed jeans, and we're done.
Step out with still wet hair:
"I thought you said half eleven was my appointment?"
"I said half ten was the other appointment, your appointment is at TEN TO ELEVEN."
"but it's like half 10 now?"
"Yes, so hurry up".
I step outside.
"but i though it was at half eleven, i was getting ready for that time, i havent shaved."
"if it was at half eleven i would have gotten you up later than 10"
"But 10 give's me loads of time to get ready? Whats wrong with that"
And for reason we stopped there. I was late because i had the wrong time, i would have still been running late if it was the time i thought it was because i would have been woken up later. The logic was beyond flawed, if there even was any.
Doctor. Straight in, only a couple of minutes late.
Still had to wait in Waiting room, as you do.
Two old men chatted away about the recession and so on.
Two kids and their mother played in the corner.
One of the old men left.
After a few minutes the old man piped up saying "they don't make prams like they used to!"
"You don't see many of them anymore, you could fit 3 kids or a bag a coal in the old ones."
Begorrah he's right, however claiming you don't see them anymore show's what a culchie he must be, HE'S NEVER BEEN TO Henry Street/Morre Street.
Doctor Whatserface calls me in.
Before we get down to business we share inquisitive "have we seen each other before looks".
I claim im not sure.
She then asks if it's okay that a guy who is visiting that want's to be a "General Practitioner" comes in to watch.
Hang on there for one second. He want's to be a GP. Surely that's something you decide DURING Medicine, not BEFORE. Anyhoo....
I said yes and referenced that as a Student Nurse i'm often that person sitting in the corner, so go right ahead.
In stepped an ageless young man with Navy blue hair, but a neat suit-jacket.
My instant thought was Indie-Nerd, but now i'm not sure. It's the Start of term, if he was a Transition year student what is he doing here on a Thursday?
If he's doing medicine he should still be comatose in a bedsit in San Diego? What the hell was this blue haired sadomasochist doing here?
Either way i had an itch to stop scratching, i put him at the back of my mind and started rolling up my sleves, taking off my shoes and Pulling up my t-shirt to explain the extremities my rash had reached on the previous days.
But like the nasty little bollocks it is, it wasn't there! It was only on my wrists with the odd dash here and there on all other body parts. THE BASTARD!
So with just a few spots to look at Doctor Whatserface was flummoxed.
She asked, while reading my history with the computer, "Do you have a family history of Skin conditions".
"Eh i wouldn't know, i'm adopted."
I said this so nonchalantly, and usually do that it made me think twice, how is that so easy to say? But it is.
So with no evidence of its extremes and barely anything there she had nothing to go with.
Blood tests. I needed to give blood. She asked "have you had blood taken before". What a ridiculous question it seemed, i'm a human being who gets sick, i'm also a student nurse who has to be inoculated several times, and i encounter accidents several times.
"Eh yes, i've had needle sticks in the past etc."
"oh really".
"yeah they should have some blood in storage actually".
"oh really..."
"yeah as a precaution until the next time etc"
"in case of AIDS or so on."
My mind: Eh no, because i'm a clumsy bollocks, and get needle sticks, so as insurance they probably want to know if i had stuff in the past the next time i come in with something or if i get sick from it. Ye know time scale of infection etc, yeah AIDS but i'm thinking Hepatitis considering i now have an unexplained symptom that's ye know, bizarre.
I didn't say this however. My knowledge is week etc So i just said yes, and explained it was a precaution for when ever i need another test or became sick.
Right so she had no clue, off to the free blood clinic. And a two week wait. She however stipulated that she would "love" to see me when it's at it's worst.
Yes like i can schedule when i'm at my most itchy. It has been controlled all summer and this is the worst it's ever been. How can i forcast that??????
A 2 week wait for these bloods.
50 euro for 20 minutes or so, and no prescription. Fuck me i forgot to get a physical! And why can't she take bloods or other tests?
Dad Coughs up 50 quid and off i go with a biohazard lipped slip for the blood clinic.
I had to quiz her on where the hell it was as my Drogheda geography is ATROCIOUS! I know more about New York and LA than Drogheda!
Both her and Mr Blue hair were laughing at this, i hadn't a clue where i was going, that and she was seemingly pointing through the wall in the wrong way to the words she was using.....
Dad drive's us there anyway, only around a few corners and down the steep hills and it's a street i know well, just not it's name.
FREE BLOOD, TEST.
So in i step through this big Georgian style door. The steps have been ramped up to it, with a wheelchair gangway on the opposite side to where i climbed.
Still thinking it's a typical Georgian big door i raised my foot while walking through and my foot MET NOTHING. It dropped twice the normal distance to a Level floor with my still stationary left foot. I was DUPED! LIE'S I TELL YOU. It was still level and i was off balance..... Stupid door.
So up i roll to the Desk Clerk.
She says i'm right on time, she's never seen it this quiet. Those jinxed words.
I look to my right, oh wait, not a soul here!
And this is free right?
So she starts her chit chat, completes my form as Dr Whatserface left out my Date of birth, the S in my address and my sex...
She then asks about the weather, oh it's fine.
My arms itch like hell at this moment.
Then she mentions her dads cows are a foot deep in muck, and that it'll take a month for it to be dry and by then they'll have to go back in again, sure it's madness she tell's me.
I am far from amused, my arms are in so much itchy craziness that i want to dip them in Brillo pads!
Then i off handily mention, oh i'm a nurse, a student nurse, when the "Have you had your blood taken before?" question raise's its head again.
Then she mentions a Friend who missed out on 5 points on his LC who wanted to do nursing in dublin, oh they need more guys don't they, he got it in some place down in LetterKenny, probably Letterkenny i'm thinking, which is ye know, miles away, he's from Claire... but he wanted Dublin.
I just add, "yes they need more men, especially psych." This is my bog standard answer. I have to say it a every time i'm quizzed about Men and nursing, which is EVERY time i meet someone new. It's annoying at this stage.
My arms are killing me and finally i'm free to run away from mindless chit chat. From yet again what must have been an ageless secretary, so with an LC friend she had to be younger than the late twenties of my half arsed prejudice guesstimations, my itch was far to important. Hell she was actually begging for conversation, possibly also flirting, but i really couldn't have cared, i even show cased my arms a few times trying to speed things up, even though this was just a blood test....
So a plump Public Health Nurse with a Phlebotomy certificate was taking my blood.
I sit in a reclining chair for blood donation, unable to sit in it properly, because it's locked upright....
She once again ask's me "if i've had blood taken before"
"YES, I'm a nursing student, i'm well used to it, it's just the PINCH, ye know."
"oh your a nurse... Where are you studying"
"Dublin" Shit i meant Trinity, the usual answer. Not to late.
"oh and what college."
"Trinity"
"oh that's nice."
She then misread a instruction on the form and quizzed a fellow PHN/Retired nurse with a Phlebotomy certificate.... "What's CG?"
"Oh thats, i g love, it's a curved i."
Fucking Dr Whatserface's half arsed writing strikes again i guessed.
The pinch. Deep breath, deep breath, squeeze chair arm, deep breath. Oh wait not that bad?
Hell she was milking me. 4 fecking vile's of the stuff, and only on the forth did she remove the Turneque to keep the flow going, talk about healthy veins, go me!
Then i was done. No charge and a 2 week wait.
Fuck sake, 2 weeks? Hell in MY hospital they get it done by the afternoon! I guess that's free services for you.....
Colonic and Coffee......
So we head down the town again, bizarrely looking for a 3rd parking space and closer to the Scotch Hall Monstrosity, so we can meet The Mother for a coffee.
My dad catche's the parking person when we park and esquire's if our still valid tickets from the past 2 locations could count. They didn't, the river is Port Authority not County Council, BASTARDS!
5 euro in the space of 40 minutes! FOR FECK SAKES!
The Mother isn't there yet. Right walk through the Monstrosity.
Usual gripes of, poor access, it SO should be a Cinema, and the river, it SO should be a promenade with café's and restaurants and stuff.
We say this all the time. This awful awful awful development is a blight on what is a pock marked town of failed developments. Drogheda is a mess when it comes to failed shopping center's.
Half the shops in the entrance alone are empty. One is a make shift creche with no interior installed!
The Mother Arrives.
The Dad does some strange cowboy stance greeting her thinking it's the funniest thing ever. I try to control him like I'M the parent, this however is pointless......
So we sit down to Muffin's, 2 latte's and a Hot chocolate. The hot Chocolate is mine, i don't like coffee, or tea.
MMM APPLE MUFFIN.
While waiting i point out a building on the river front to The Dad. I Say it's really nice, red brick, white brick, lion's on the top of plinths on either side.
I shift my view and notice that counters block the fact that a god awful green shop "Frontage" is on the ground level, ruining the building.
I mention this to The Dad. He concurs. He then mentions that it looks like the "frontier" style shops we saw in Australia. Grand front, with a shack at the back.
Then when The Mother returns with all the hot drinks. We all settle into a chat.
However the "this should be a promenade" conversation is old hat. My mother JUST has to talk about the Colonic she had that morning....
What she can't have and so. And how it's uncomfortable. I interject to The Dad several time's that you don't have to expand on these points, but he does anyway for his childish toilet humour ways.
"Oh i'm not supposed to have tea or coffee for a few hours, to give me a rest". As The Mother sips her Latte.
Right well one instruction failed.
"oh and no pork products for 2 weeks".
"Why's that?" Says The Dad.
"It's because red meats and so on are harder to digest, its something vegitarians sprout all the time, some of those meats never leave your system. So you'd expect some one from such a place to mention that as well."
"yeah, the last time the girl checked the content, this time she didn't. Strange that."
Thus insude groan's and bemoaning's of Gillian Mckeefe or what ever that bitch of the telly is called, and then a "reinactment" of one of the clichéd poo smelling scenes from The Dad. It was impossible to stop, i really tried....
Despite never looking at them the 2 Recesionista's to the right swung the odd look our way, i don't know what kind but i could tell it was some form of disaproval or scorn at a close nit family talking about shite in a café.
We then started talking about other things and The Dad and myself got stuck in the whole "Ireland is fucked with this recession" stuff.
And then The Mother pipes in with how The Sister is blessed being in Australia at the right time and so on.
Then we mention the bridesmaids.
One's working in an Art gallery for 80 euro a week just so she isn't on the dole.
The other, the trained actress, she's working for a cloths store in Tallaght.
And i just scoff "An Alex girl, working in Tallaght, a trained Gaiety actress at that, what's the world comming to!"
Then The Dad talks about some trainee Teacher he knows from his old school, a past pupil or something, who met some girl at a conferance who apparently said the following.
"Yeah i'm loike, meant to be going out tonight in the new beamer my daddy bought me, but i loike can't with the recession and all the girls can't afford it and i loike couldn't go out on my tobbler."
The guy ran a mile after that. Apparently. A northsider as well according to the context of the story, but The Dad tried to insist that he (the stories protagonist) knew nothing of south side accent's or inability to speak good... Like that mattered.
The Mother tried to say that people DO speak like that, even saying that I SPEAK like that, the focking cheek!
And then i continue with the laughing at the story and start to insist that she got that from THOSE books! And she think's their, like, real words!
But she's so stupid, Tobler doesn't mean OWN it means PHONE!!!
"No it doesn't" Says The Dad.
"Have you read them? He says "i'll give him a tobler". It means Phone not own, sheesh (or some such scoff), she can't even copy slang from a book let alone speak english."
Thus missing the point of the joke i had just been laughing at by tearing it apart and over analysing it...
Tenner to Shop, YAY!!!!
So the Parental units had to run other errands and get me the skin cream with the steroids.
So as i didn't want to be waiting around i'd have a mosey in HMV, Waterstone's etc.
I was walking off and i was called back, handed a ragged and fadded Tenner, happy day's!
I though this is at least 2 Seemingly unending HMV sale dvds or a book i've missed.
No such luck. HMV, here anyway, doesn't have a sale. And Waterstones, despite books i do want to buy, meant i could only get one thing.
But i was in better luck than i could hope for. Gamestop, 4 dvd's for a tenner, sold!
So there i was riffling through the pre-owned dvds and i just was in owe of the choice. Some nice titles that people had discarded.
Beatles music was playing. And it actually gave a nice atmosphere. I even sang along in my head to one or two ditty's because i knew of them.
Then i was in shock, Imagine was playing. WO WO WO, WTF, that is not a Beatle's song, i hate the Beatles, but that IS NOT a Beatle's song!
I turn to look at where it's comming from and the big plasma on the wall behind the counter is playing a trailer for Beatle's rock band and the CGI Liverpudlian's are mouthing out of sync to a song that only one of them ever sang.
Disgrace! I may hate the Beatle's as a modern spoilt brat, or any other crticism you may want to give, but i know their hits, i appreciate what they did for music but i wouldn't give a rats arse about listening to them openly, or even paying to do so. No i couldn't care less about the Beatles. But that's just MADE of WRONG!
I finally pick my dvds.
Fight Club Special Addition
Super Bad 2 Disc Extended Edition
Intermission
Down With Love
I stand at the counter while the Guy searches the disk drawer for the apropriate disks. The girl remarks that they "should play the Beatles more often, it brings in a crowd".
And sure enough despite the ENTIRE SHOPPING CENTER being dead quiet there were nearly 20 people looking at the games and dvds, from all walks of life.
one mother Disgusted at the idea that "all console's have their own games." Surely missing some point, and the fact that some do spread out....
Then Beside me a kid rocks up to the counter with a couple of Rock Band games for the Xbox all excited.
"Oh so you have rock band." Says the enthausiastic female Clerk.
"Yeah i just bought it today in Hmv for a Hundred and........(?)"
"Oh so, do you not want to get the Beatle's???" She says with a smile on her face and their 60s craziness/modern blandness blarring in the background.
"No, i don't like them." He said with a smile.
I smiled too as i recieved my dvds and walked away. The Make everyone happy, but some people just wouldnt actually listen to them, or be seen liking them!
Back up into the town, a screw up with the cream.
We have to get a perscription, lies!
The SAME chemist the day before offered it to my dad as a soloution as the steroid in it gives it that extra punch. He said no.
Dr Whatserface said it was over the counter.
Mere hours later it wasn't. So they had to fax the chemist in my name.
But it was closed for lunch.
49 cent red bull immitation drink from Dunnes store's to cool my now burning hands as i dance back and forth in agony like i had ants in my pants.
I'm irratible to say the least and i can't keep still.
The parents by a huge bag of Fish from the Fish Mongers and then call the Clinic for the Perscription.
I'm nearly dancing in the street trying to distract myself from the hell of my hands. Not much joy.
I then fed up with the indiscssion of what's happening now. I ask to go to the car to sit and wait. In the heat.....
I carry the fish back, and put them in the boot.
With the sun roof open, 3 windows half mast, and a slight breeze i manange.
But it's an hour or so i had to wait.
Joe Duffy and Moncreef are both spurten shite on a weekday afternoon and i've read the dvd covers twice.
I could have been in the cinema! I could have been eating a tonne of sneaked in popcorn and enjoying the last time i see a good freind till Christmas or January.
Instead i was sitting in a car, in the heat, scratching myself and twiddling my thumbs.
ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH.
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