Well, that was odd.
Went up to the hospital this morning for what I was told would be a "walking ECG" - where they strap a bunch of crap to you, basically turn you into a Cyberman, and then you walk around for 24 hours giving heart measurements.
Got there, and they told me I was down for an echocardiogram - much less fun, all in all. I queried this with the blunt-faced bint on reception.
"No," she said. "You're down for an echo, not a 24-hour tape."
"Really?" I said. "Cos there was a sheet of information about the 24-hour walking ECG, and nothing about an echo."
"Really," she said, challenging me with her eyes. Those eyes said "Are you fuckin' stupid, fat boy?"
"You're...down...for...an...echo."
I'm really not exaggerating her diction here.
"Please," I said, meeting her eyes. "Check." She checked. I was right. She sniffed.
"It's the wrong attachment," she decided.
"Is it?"
She stared at me.
"Yes. Obviously. You're down for an echo!"
I walked away. I bow to no-one in my admiration for the NHS - as a concept, it's breath-taking and as an inspiration to care and vocation, it trumps any pecuniary advantage you care to name.
But no organisation of its size and scope will survive without a certain number of arseholes. You kinda take pot luck with finding them.
Thing is - the Cyber-conversion had put me in a mindset that I wouldn't be able to do any exercise today. When it didn't take place, did I embrace the opportunity and jump on the bike?
Nnnno. Came home and worked my ass off doing day-job stuff, No exercise of any kind today, though calorie-intake hasn't been bad either. Tomorrow...who knows? Not thinking about it, really. Feel like I've been hit with the lead pipe of Knackerdity.
Zzzzzzzz.....Zzz.....Zzzzzzzzzz....
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