Friday, 14 May 2010

Hattie's diagnostic prowess

EDIT: 03/092010 You can now listen as you read along with my partner in crime and collaboration, Peeteer Smith, narrating in his special way!

I woke up with a little pain in my rib cage. Its probably a tumour.

I should really point out that Diagnosis: Tumour is my default setting for when I am afflicted with even the slightest ailment. Headache? Its probably a tumour. Sprained ankle? Tumour. Itchy arm? Its a tumour. Woke up earlier than normal? You get the idea.

I have now said the word tumour too many times in rapid succession and it has lost all meaning. Hold on while I go google.

define: tumour - an abnormal mass of new tissue that serves no purpose

Well, that doesn't sound nearly as life-threatening as the plight with which I am faced with on a daily basis, sometimes 3 or 4 times in one day! Let me clarify, when I say tumour, I mean violent cancerous growth that will most likely make me dead in a matter of hours.

Luckily, this morning I avoided certain death by remembering that the pain in my ribcage was the consequence of me colliding with the door frame at great speed with an obtuse downward trajectory. Its tricky to stab oneself in the ribs (in fact I'm pretty sure it was a section of intercostal muscle that was damaged) but I assure you its possible with the grace and concentrated aplomb I demonstrate by being a complete malco. I would be embarrassed that this happened while I was attempting to navigate my way through a doorway (as normal people do every day) but similar events take place on such a regular basis that all capacity for humiliation has been exhausted.

I've had many close shaves when it comes to tumours. There was that time that I did 7 poohs in one day (yes! 7!) and I was of unshakeable certainty that I had developed Tumour Of The Intestine. Turns out I'd just eaten a lot of vegetables and one bowl of All Bran too many. God bless that branny goodness for saving me from my intestine tumour!

There was also the time when I had a drunken fall and twatted my hip so badly that I had a welt the size of a small melon protruding from my left leg. It took a long time to heal, which of course meant that the knock had prompted the rapid growth of a humongous super tumour that was bleeding technicolour into my skin (that was one hell of a bruise). But yay! Bruises take time to go away! The tumour is no more!

Diagnosis: Tumour means I escape death at least once a day! Which also means I am AMAZING and I win at life. And also if I have an actual tumour one day I will win because I'll get to the doctors far quicker than people who don't have a pathological obsession with tumours and they'll come in and shake their heads gravely and I'll whimper 'Diagnosis: tumour?' and they'll nod their heads in awe at my skills as an amateur diagnostician and respect for my bravery and then I'll jump up and yell 'I've had a million of these and its always been fine!' and they'll slap their legs in unison with cacophonous laughter and assure me that it will be fine and then they will give me an ice lolly as a prize for guessing the diagnosis. Also the doctors will be House and Wilson. And then they'll zap the tumour away with their special tumour destroying guns and I will be all better, all because of my life long ability to simultaneously diagnose and vanquish tumours.

In short - I am awesome.
NB: for home treatment of tumours - ointment usually works.

1 comment:

  1. Labels: Pooh. How many posts do you have lined up for 'pooh'?
    Love the post - very funny :-))