Ruby...

I was reading this paragraph in the Jilly Cooper novel this morning, introducing a new character:

A bedding billionnaire named Bertie Barraclough, ennobled for his services to sleep and sexual enterprise, telephoned asking Marius to find him a horse he could give to his wife, appropriately named Ruby, for a ruby wedding present.

While I was reading that, my new morning-shift nurse walked in. "Hello," she said. "I'm Ruby."

How I love life's little synchronicities.





Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network

All my doctors...

When she visited yesterday, commodorified joked that since I'd been seen by eight doctors in two days, the next one would be the Ninth Doctor.

I met her this morning, another surgeon, Dr Wedman, who disappointingly bears no resemblance to Christopher Eccleston. This is maybe not disappointing to her, as he wouldn't be a pretty woman.

She had in tow six other doctors, students studying surgery, and asked if they could feel my gall bladder.

"Of course," I said co-operatively. But even though my gall bladder wasn't hurting when they started, after being thoroughly groped by seven doctors in order, it started to ache rather fiercely.

"This is supposed to be painful," said Doctor #15, looking puzzled as she pressed the spot.

"It does," I assured her sincerely. But only one of them made me flinch.

To think that a little while ago I wasn't even sure where my gall bladder was.

It wasn't the Ninth Doctor I was thinking about, but Ten, in the hospital bed in that episode that introduced Martha in her mob of student doctors.

Sent from my BlackBerry device on the Rogers Wireless Network