I’m a peaceable sort of chappie. I get angry on occasion and have even been known to fight – quite brutally. Like ‘broken bones and dislocated jaws’ brutally. Even then, I am usually the guy who doesn’t let anger blind him and try to avoid fights where I can get beat up.

Since that would entail a) telling the parents and b) going to a doctor to get stitched up.

Of which, I dread b) more.

Telling the parents is relatively easy with a “He started it, what was I supposed to do? Lay down like a wuss?”

Going to a doctor – yikes.

Don’t get me wrong. Doctors are nice blokes – the proverbial kindly healers and I’ve yet to meet one with a bad bedside manner. Unfortunately, I tend to regard them with a bit of awe.

Actually, they scare me. I get tongue tied around the doc and am hard pressed to explain what pain I’m experiencing. I stammer I blush and in general make a fool out of myself. You may call it a fear of making a fool of myself in front of people instead of just doctors, but then, why is it just doctors I’m afraid of? Specially the feminine variety – the young, dashing feminine variety?

For example, take the time I went to see a doctor after a particularly funny fight. The reasons behind the fight were a case of mistaken identity, it’s a long story. The short version, I got bit by a bloke – right on my chest. A rather deep bite, which bled a little and my colleagues got a bit anxious lest I contact rabies or something. I have no idea if that is possible but in the unlikely event their gloomy predictions come true, I consented to visit a hospital. As luck would have it, the only doc there was a ‘Oh my!’ sort of personable popsy I wouldn’t mind being seen on a date with. This is how it went.

Me: Er… Hi.

Doc: Hello, what happened?

Me: I… I got bit.

Doc: Oh, that’s bad. Where did you get bit? In the leg, or on your hand?

Me: Um… actually, I got bit … er… um…

Doc: *raising an eyebrow* where?

Me:  *points a finger at my chest*

Doc: Would you mind showing me where?

Me: Ah… sure! *proceed to take my shirt off* Here!

Doc: *Looks at the bite, raises an eyebrow, smiles* Your girlfriend must’ve got pretty excited, I guess.

Me: *without thinking for even a second* actually, it was a guy…

Doc: You’re gay?

Me: No, of course not! *Proceeds with declaration of heterosexuality and a narration of the fight*

Doc: Oh. Most handsome men are gay, you know. You look gay.

I had no answer to that, so I left it at that and got the bite cleaned and taped up, a jab with the needle and shuffled out of the hospital feeling really low at being considered gay by the doc.

Death, where is thy sting.


An erratic, absent minded individual with a curiosity level equivalent to that of a dead cat. If I do something, it's probably on a whim and not planned, just like my blogs. Which are, like me, erratic, boring and certainly worth wasting time over since it's yours anyway.

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2 comments on “Doctors!
  1. Usman says:

    hmmm. . quite an amusing read; wondering why he would go for your chest though, considering it wasn’t a love bite and was in fact the outcome of a fight; your nemesis certainly had latent desires 🙂

    • evorsoris says:

      Probably because it was right in his face, considering I was busy in crushing the life out of him 😛 Yup, probably festering inside him and he decided to strike the iron when hot!

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