Theme week coming up? I shall look forward to it. Since themes don't always go well with Lord Derby, I shall consider pausing his tale for a week as well. So today, we're revisiting a slightly unusual family.
Coming soon "Dr. C, paging Dr. C. Paging Dr. C." The announcement echoed down the worn corridors where ceiling tiles were askew or missing and the walls, once painted beige, were now grafittied into the life story of teenage artists with vivid imaginations. Windows were dirty and mullioned; typically over half of the tiny squares were broken and letting in the autumn air. The floors were cleaned daily, but the water available for cleaning was already dirty and the mops were worn and tattered. The bleach had run out six months ago. "Paging Dr. C," came again over the tannoy system, and a nurse looked up from the end of a patient's bed. She was drawing 10cc of Day Tripper into a syringe while the man in the bed, lucky to have only had a foot amputated, watched her with the bright, feverish eyes of an addict. "Atomic Jesus," said the nurse softly. "Dr. C. will be coming soon, Susan. He's always coming soon. When will you learn?" "What's that?" said the man in the bed. His voice was cracked and his hands, pulled now above the unwashed sheets, were shaking. "They make this from lettuce, you know?" said the nurse checking there were no air bubbles in the syringe. "You could get the same effect, they say, from eating sixteen kilogrammes of lettuce in one sitting." The man rolled his pyjama sleeve up for her, and she checked for a vein. "Though that would be quite a long sitting," she added as an afterthought, and injected him.
"Paging Dr. C, paging Dr. C. Dr. C., please attend to surgery." The smell of gorgonzola, heavily cheesy with an sharp undertone like washing up liquid, drifted in through the windows of the Senior Registrar's office. The leather chair was ripped and torn and the desk had three legs: the fourth corner was propped up by a stack of thick surgical manuals. Two battered filing cabinets stood against a wall, under portraits of Stalin and Pope Francis. The Senior Registrar looked up from his paperwork and frowned at Dr. C., who was sat on an upturned metal waste-bin opposite him. "Duluth?" he said. "Really? Your brother's called Duluth?" "He's a plant specialist," said Dr. C. easily. He stretched, revealing yellowed sweat stains at the armpits of his white shirt. "I took him with me to a medical conference once. He... found too many similarities for comfort." "Aha. Aha." "Paging Dr. C. Paging Dr. C. Bleedout in progress in surgery 2, Dr." "Your sister...?" "Cincinatti," said Dr. C. "Listen, is this going to take long? I'm listening to a patient slowly die over the tannoy here." The Senior Registrar sighed. "Ok," he said. "Right. So, is your name really, really, Democratic Republic of the Congo? And your initials are just DR.C and you're not really a doctor?" "I saved thirteen lives yesterday," said Dr. C. "Do you want to call me Demmy, or Dr. C.?" "Paging Dr. C, paging Dr.C please...."
Greg - yeah, I'd have to have Derby in mind when putting a theme week together.
Hmm, that's not a bad idea, actually...
I recognized the name Cincinatti immediately but I had to go reread your linked piece to put it all together in my head. Thank you for the reminder, I quite enjoyed this :)
2 comments:
Theme week coming up? I shall look forward to it. Since themes don't always go well with Lord Derby, I shall consider pausing his tale for a week as well. So today, we're revisiting a slightly unusual family.
Coming soon
"Dr. C, paging Dr. C. Paging Dr. C." The announcement echoed down the worn corridors where ceiling tiles were askew or missing and the walls, once painted beige, were now grafittied into the life story of teenage artists with vivid imaginations. Windows were dirty and mullioned; typically over half of the tiny squares were broken and letting in the autumn air. The floors were cleaned daily, but the water available for cleaning was already dirty and the mops were worn and tattered. The bleach had run out six months ago.
"Paging Dr. C," came again over the tannoy system, and a nurse looked up from the end of a patient's bed. She was drawing 10cc of Day Tripper into a syringe while the man in the bed, lucky to have only had a foot amputated, watched her with the bright, feverish eyes of an addict.
"Atomic Jesus," said the nurse softly. "Dr. C. will be coming soon, Susan. He's always coming soon. When will you learn?"
"What's that?" said the man in the bed. His voice was cracked and his hands, pulled now above the unwashed sheets, were shaking.
"They make this from lettuce, you know?" said the nurse checking there were no air bubbles in the syringe. "You could get the same effect, they say, from eating sixteen kilogrammes of lettuce in one sitting."
The man rolled his pyjama sleeve up for her, and she checked for a vein.
"Though that would be quite a long sitting," she added as an afterthought, and injected him.
"Paging Dr. C, paging Dr. C. Dr. C., please attend to surgery."
The smell of gorgonzola, heavily cheesy with an sharp undertone like washing up liquid, drifted in through the windows of the Senior Registrar's office. The leather chair was ripped and torn and the desk had three legs: the fourth corner was propped up by a stack of thick surgical manuals. Two battered filing cabinets stood against a wall, under portraits of Stalin and Pope Francis.
The Senior Registrar looked up from his paperwork and frowned at Dr. C., who was sat on an upturned metal waste-bin opposite him.
"Duluth?" he said. "Really? Your brother's called Duluth?"
"He's a plant specialist," said Dr. C. easily. He stretched, revealing yellowed sweat stains at the armpits of his white shirt. "I took him with me to a medical conference once. He... found too many similarities for comfort."
"Aha. Aha."
"Paging Dr. C. Paging Dr. C. Bleedout in progress in surgery 2, Dr."
"Your sister...?"
"Cincinatti," said Dr. C. "Listen, is this going to take long? I'm listening to a patient slowly die over the tannoy here."
The Senior Registrar sighed. "Ok," he said. "Right. So, is your name really, really, Democratic Republic of the Congo? And your initials are just DR.C and you're not really a doctor?"
"I saved thirteen lives yesterday," said Dr. C. "Do you want to call me Demmy, or Dr. C.?"
"Paging Dr. C, paging Dr.C please...."
Greg - yeah, I'd have to have Derby in mind when putting a theme week together.
Hmm, that's not a bad idea, actually...
I recognized the name Cincinatti immediately but I had to go reread your linked piece to put it all together in my head. Thank you for the reminder, I quite enjoyed this :)
Post a Comment