Seriously, I was feeling absolutely horrible yesterday morning; I crashed out and resolved to fast all day, but although I managed a 17 day hunger strike in November 1996, these days I can’t go four hours without taking a bite out of something. She was a locum by the way, hello she said, I’m Susan, one of the doctors. She probably said that because she hardly looked old enough to be doctor, and what a surprise she was too, smallish, bubbly, and with a nice albeit small set of jugs I could have avoided staring at but she would insist on sitting close to me and feeling me around the gills. Does this hurt, she asked? Seriously, much of the magic of medicine is in the laying on of hands, let’s face it, an attractive young woman touching your neck and face softly like that never made anyone feel bad, man or woman.
Talking of bad though, the bad news is that she diagnosed me with nascent influenza - on the hottest day of the year! The really bad news is of course that I am at least a quarter of a century too late, though when I think of the last lady doctor who shared my bed, I don’t feel quite so disappointed, but that’s another story.