Well, it’s 9 in the morning. The nurse who thought I was the 77 year old with the same first name but similar yet different surname as me, has managed to give me my first ever anti-flu jab.
The confusing the two ‘patients’ thing was a bit worrying, as was her asking me if I was still “very depressed”.
Being asked if you are depressed, or indeed, ‘still’ depressed, let alone ‘very’ depressed, is a difficult one to anticipate or answer. Does a truly depressed person know they are depressed? If they know they are depressed are they going to admit it?
All of these thoughts rushed through my head alongside a Data-like (that’s a Star Trek; Next Generation reference) self-diagnostic to try to establish my state of mind.
“Erm. I don’t know. Should I be? What terrible thing is your screen telling you I’ve got?” was all I could reasonably stammer out.
In fear for her life, for I must have sounded like I was about to become homicidal rather than suicidal, she turned the screen around spluttering that it had asked her to check, adding, “It’s what we have to ask everybody suffering from your chronic traumatic conditions.”
“Chronic traumatic conditions?” I repeated two octaves higher, starting to feel exceedingly depressed.
Scanning the screen to see what I was obviously about to die from, it was at this moment that I noticed the name on the screen wasn’t mine.
“Ah, look, that’s not me,” I said excitedly, explaining it was a different surname.
“Aha. I did think you were looking remarkably youthful for a 77 year old.”
So, we started again with the correct ‘me’ up on the screen. No, she didn’t have ask if I was depressed, and yes I really was only there for the anti-flu jab, which she quickly gave me and ushered me out of the room.
The needle had initially felt very painful and sharp on entry, but had been ok. The stabbing pain left almost immediately and I barely bothered to take-in her warning about the possible side-effects. It might be my first ever anti-flu jab, but I am a man able to deal with anything.
It’s now midday and I feel a bit like somebody’s whacked me in the shoulder blade. Maybe they’ve also punched me in the arm.
Ah. Here we are at 3 in the afternoon. Why is it so hot and stuffy? I seem to be perspiring a lot from this extreme physical activity of sitting here at my desk looking at email. And I’m shivering.
So it’s now 6 in the evening. I ache all over. The back of my neck hurts when I turn my head. I am feeling sore all over. And a little depressed.
My doctor had originally advised me that in order to avoid the horrors of flu, I needed the anti-flu jab.
To be honest, they seem to just call it the ‘flu-jab’, which doesn’t inspire confidence does it? Why would anybody ‘want’ a jab that gives them influenza? Hang on a minute. Why had I volunteered to have one? Hey, I’ve been conned.
All of this is making me further depressed.
It’s now 9 o’clock at night and dark outside. I let myself leave work and groaned all the way home. I can’t get comfortable. My eyes ache. My head aches. And, this tightening across my chest, that’s a heart attack, right? I am both freezing to death and burning to death. In fact ‘death’ is the operative word. I feel like death. I’m going off to my death bed. Goodnight.
Here we are at gone midnight. Somebody’s turned my bed into a swimming pool.
I would have got out and moved into a non-swimming pool, but these very strange dancing snakes are looking at me. I suspect they are not really there, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
It’s daylight outside. Man, what a night! Today I’m off work with man-flu.
You know those weird dreamy sequences in Rosemary’s Baby with the Devil and all his malarkey? Well, all of that happened to me last night.
Let me tell you, if it turns out that I’m pregnant with the Anti-Christ, I really am going to be seriously depressed.