Well, I am only just now recovering from my periodic visit to the hallowed halls of medicine. Ah, military medicine. They are consummate professionals, especially in the lab. They hold your ID card ya see, so your piss and blood won't be credited to anyone else but ye.
The nurse on deck held my ID card before her eyes, stared hard at my ruddy little face, and asked me for my birth date. She then handed my ID back to me. I glanced at it before stowing it in my wallet and found that I was now a 75 year old Asian woman. For the record, I am in my forties and am a blue-eyed blonde. I guess someone knows where they keep the keys to the controlled substance cabinet, eh?
Speaking of the pharmacy... Of course there was a mix-up with my meds. Though I had been intending to go to the Doc's Diner in the basement and grab a Krispy Kreme doughnut and some milk, I flew out the door like my head was on fire and my rear end was catching. My tummy grumbled and my head was buzzy from the lab test enforced fast, but I just could not bear another moment in that sickatorium.
God bless our medical folks, though. What would we do without them? I can't imagine spending my days with sick and sometimes whiny-assed people. We are lucky that they are fascinated with the inner workings of the fatty blood bags we call bodies. They earn every dollar that they are paid.
Except when they morph me into a tiny, elderly Asian lady. You know, I have to draw the line somewhere.
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