Doctor, Doctor
by Susi J Smith
Genre: Humour
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Edward is at the Doctor’s with abdominal discomfort of the most unusual kind.
Swearwords: One mild one only.
Description: Edward is at the Doctor’s with abdominal discomfort of the most unusual kind.
Edward felt a sudden crushing pain shoot through his foot. He looked down. A beige sandal peeked up at him from below rolls of fat. Above sat a circular body draped in a floral dress.
Wincing, Edward tapped the lady on the shoulder. “Excuse me Miss—”
“It’s Mrs. and no, you can’t go first.” The woman turned back to face the queue in front of the reception desk.
Edward’s stomach tightened. Bile bubbled in his belly. He covered his mouth. When the sensation subsided he tried again. “You’re standing on my foot.”
“I think I would know if I was standing on somebody’s foot.” Floral Frieda continued to face forward.
“Well, if you would look down—”
“I’m not looking down there. You could be some pervert with his thing out.” She adjusted her stance, the pressure increased.
Grimacing, Edward gripped his leg and heaved. Nothing.
The queue moved forward, the weight was lifted. Edward wriggled his throbbing toes, checking for fractures. As feeling returned, he became aware of Frieda’s conversation with the receptionist: “…moaning about a pain in his foot and has the cheek to blame me for it. Be careful with that one, Sarah.”
Frieda wobbled towards the waiting room. Edward approached the wooden window.
“Edward Jameson to see the doctor.”
“Yes, with a sore foot.” The secretary filed her nails.
“No, actually it’s…something else.”
Sarah looked at him over her black-rimmed glasses. She was young and attractive, with long dark hair pulled into a tight bun. Her red satin shirt struggled to contain her large breasts.
“What do you want to see the doctor about?”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“Oh please, I’m a medical receptionist. I need to know to make sure it’s the doctor you need and not someone else, like the chiropodist…or a psychiatrist.”
Edward leant forward, resting his hands on the narrow ledge. “It’s a little…odd.”
The secretary looked him up and down. Picking up a spray bottle, she skooshed him with a foul smelling liquid. “Don’t lean on my sill again; I don’t want those kind of germs anywhere near me. Take a seat and no scratching.”
Frowning, Edward wandered through to the waiting area.
The burning sensation returned to his throat. He choked it down, gagging and coughing. The bitter smell of the vomit tickled his nostrils.
Floral Frieda glared at him. With a dramatic gesture, she pulled out a large cloth hanky and waved it in his direction.
“Coughs and sneezes spread diseases.”
I should vomit on her, just walk over and throw up all over her.
A young female doctor appeared from along the corridor. “Olivia Bell?”
“That’s Mrs Bell.” Frieda grunted as she pushed her considerable bulk vertical and waddled forward, grabbing each chair in turn for support.
Edward slouched in his chair and glanced at the clock. Quarter to nine. He sighed, kicking his foot against the worn carpet.
“Mr Jameson.” Sarah the Slutty Secretary, stood over him, hands on hips. “Stop vandalising our carpet. The NHS is in enough financial trouble without you adding to our expenses.”
“Sorry. Will the doctor be long?”
She crossed her arms. “If you have better things to do, I can re-arrange this appointment.”
“Thank you, but I really should see the doctor today.”
“Then why don’t I have you moved to the front of the queue, it’d be no trouble; it’s not as though there are other patients here sicker than yourself.” She smiled, an aggressive smile that warned of danger.
Edward gazed at the floor.
“Mr Jameson?” A tall, slender gentleman in suit trousers and a crushed shirt glanced around the room.
“Excuse me.” Edward squeezed past Sarah. He felt her eyes mentally stabbing him in the back as he headed for the doctor’s office. Outside the door he stopped, staring at the gold nameplate: “Doctor...Death?”
“It's De’Ath. Take a seat Mr Jameson.”
Edward sat.
“So, what seems to be the trouble?”
Edward considered the question. “It's a little...odd.”
The doctor smiled. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Step behind the curtain and remove your trousers.”
“What? No! Not that. That's...normal. Wonderful. Powerful. Shit. Sorry; verbal diarrhoea.”
“Verbal diarrhoea. That is...odd.”
“No, that’s just an...can I start again? I have this issue, not with verbal diarrhoea, I get it all the time…”
Doctor De’Ath stared at him.
Edward sighed. “Last night I vomited fire.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
Silence.
Taking a deep breath, he peeked at the doctor.
Doctor De’Ath shook his head. Printing off a prescription, he handed it to Edward.
Edward stared at it. “That's for indigestion.”
“Of course.”
“But I really vomited fire. Three times. Big lashing flames. I puked on the cat. Ruddy thing ran up the curtains, then they went up too. The wife's livid; they were a wedding present from her late grandmother. And if that wasn't bad enough, the whole house stinks of sick, sulphur and sick. The missus is threatening to banish me to the shed if it happens again. Not that I'd mind, nothing there to nag me, but there's no telly in the shed and I'd hate to miss the match on Saturday.”
Doctor De’Ath chuckled. “Ignivomousness.”
“Sorry?”
“Ignivomousness; the ability to vomit fire. It’s a very common condition. Perfectly normal. That prescription will clear it up.”
Edward sat, dazed.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No…thank you.” Edward ambled towards the door.
“Let me know if you decide to get that verbal diarrhoea treated. Fascinating condition, very rare.”
Scratching his head, Edward headed back towards the waiting area.
“Oh here he comes now, Mr Crotch Bugs.” Sarah screwed up her face.
“Really. Didn’t I tell you he was trying to get me to look at his bits? Dirty man.” Frieda looked him up and down before the pair turned away.
Edward smiled. His stomach muscles clenched. Vomiting fire, very common. Bound to be lots of people who accidently get thrown up on. With a chuckle, he hurried over, grabbed them both by the shoulder and opened his mouth.
Wincing, Edward tapped the lady on the shoulder. “Excuse me Miss—”
“It’s Mrs. and no, you can’t go first.” The woman turned back to face the queue in front of the reception desk.
Edward’s stomach tightened. Bile bubbled in his belly. He covered his mouth. When the sensation subsided he tried again. “You’re standing on my foot.”
“I think I would know if I was standing on somebody’s foot.” Floral Frieda continued to face forward.
“Well, if you would look down—”
“I’m not looking down there. You could be some pervert with his thing out.” She adjusted her stance, the pressure increased.
Grimacing, Edward gripped his leg and heaved. Nothing.
The queue moved forward, the weight was lifted. Edward wriggled his throbbing toes, checking for fractures. As feeling returned, he became aware of Frieda’s conversation with the receptionist: “…moaning about a pain in his foot and has the cheek to blame me for it. Be careful with that one, Sarah.”
Frieda wobbled towards the waiting room. Edward approached the wooden window.
“Edward Jameson to see the doctor.”
“Yes, with a sore foot.” The secretary filed her nails.
“No, actually it’s…something else.”
Sarah looked at him over her black-rimmed glasses. She was young and attractive, with long dark hair pulled into a tight bun. Her red satin shirt struggled to contain her large breasts.
“What do you want to see the doctor about?”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“Oh please, I’m a medical receptionist. I need to know to make sure it’s the doctor you need and not someone else, like the chiropodist…or a psychiatrist.”
Edward leant forward, resting his hands on the narrow ledge. “It’s a little…odd.”
The secretary looked him up and down. Picking up a spray bottle, she skooshed him with a foul smelling liquid. “Don’t lean on my sill again; I don’t want those kind of germs anywhere near me. Take a seat and no scratching.”
Frowning, Edward wandered through to the waiting area.
The burning sensation returned to his throat. He choked it down, gagging and coughing. The bitter smell of the vomit tickled his nostrils.
Floral Frieda glared at him. With a dramatic gesture, she pulled out a large cloth hanky and waved it in his direction.
“Coughs and sneezes spread diseases.”
I should vomit on her, just walk over and throw up all over her.
A young female doctor appeared from along the corridor. “Olivia Bell?”
“That’s Mrs Bell.” Frieda grunted as she pushed her considerable bulk vertical and waddled forward, grabbing each chair in turn for support.
Edward slouched in his chair and glanced at the clock. Quarter to nine. He sighed, kicking his foot against the worn carpet.
“Mr Jameson.” Sarah the Slutty Secretary, stood over him, hands on hips. “Stop vandalising our carpet. The NHS is in enough financial trouble without you adding to our expenses.”
“Sorry. Will the doctor be long?”
She crossed her arms. “If you have better things to do, I can re-arrange this appointment.”
“Thank you, but I really should see the doctor today.”
“Then why don’t I have you moved to the front of the queue, it’d be no trouble; it’s not as though there are other patients here sicker than yourself.” She smiled, an aggressive smile that warned of danger.
Edward gazed at the floor.
“Mr Jameson?” A tall, slender gentleman in suit trousers and a crushed shirt glanced around the room.
“Excuse me.” Edward squeezed past Sarah. He felt her eyes mentally stabbing him in the back as he headed for the doctor’s office. Outside the door he stopped, staring at the gold nameplate: “Doctor...Death?”
“It's De’Ath. Take a seat Mr Jameson.”
Edward sat.
“So, what seems to be the trouble?”
Edward considered the question. “It's a little...odd.”
The doctor smiled. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Step behind the curtain and remove your trousers.”
“What? No! Not that. That's...normal. Wonderful. Powerful. Shit. Sorry; verbal diarrhoea.”
“Verbal diarrhoea. That is...odd.”
“No, that’s just an...can I start again? I have this issue, not with verbal diarrhoea, I get it all the time…”
Doctor De’Ath stared at him.
Edward sighed. “Last night I vomited fire.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
Silence.
Taking a deep breath, he peeked at the doctor.
Doctor De’Ath shook his head. Printing off a prescription, he handed it to Edward.
Edward stared at it. “That's for indigestion.”
“Of course.”
“But I really vomited fire. Three times. Big lashing flames. I puked on the cat. Ruddy thing ran up the curtains, then they went up too. The wife's livid; they were a wedding present from her late grandmother. And if that wasn't bad enough, the whole house stinks of sick, sulphur and sick. The missus is threatening to banish me to the shed if it happens again. Not that I'd mind, nothing there to nag me, but there's no telly in the shed and I'd hate to miss the match on Saturday.”
Doctor De’Ath chuckled. “Ignivomousness.”
“Sorry?”
“Ignivomousness; the ability to vomit fire. It’s a very common condition. Perfectly normal. That prescription will clear it up.”
Edward sat, dazed.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
“No…thank you.” Edward ambled towards the door.
“Let me know if you decide to get that verbal diarrhoea treated. Fascinating condition, very rare.”
Scratching his head, Edward headed back towards the waiting area.
“Oh here he comes now, Mr Crotch Bugs.” Sarah screwed up her face.
“Really. Didn’t I tell you he was trying to get me to look at his bits? Dirty man.” Frieda looked him up and down before the pair turned away.
Edward smiled. His stomach muscles clenched. Vomiting fire, very common. Bound to be lots of people who accidently get thrown up on. With a chuckle, he hurried over, grabbed them both by the shoulder and opened his mouth.
About the Author
Livingston-born Susi J Smith enjoys writing short stories and flash fiction. For more information, please check out her website: https://mairi187.wixsite.com/susi-j-smith