It's getting out of hand
Friday night: Cinema (you don't say) - Million Dollar Baby - excellent - laughter, tears and thoughts provoked.
Poor old TOH was stuck between two weeping women, my silent tears rolling down cheeks and the woman next to him, who was moaning and snorting and boo-hooing like she had no shame.
Do I need to say this was a emotional film? A bloody good one though - out of all the Oscar contenders, this one should wipe the floor. Eastwood, Freeman and Swank should all go home with a trophy.
The funny thing was, that during the film, right after a really tragic bit, some bloke in the audience suddenly fell down the steps of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet shouting 'you alright mate?' and 'Are you diabetic?' and calling for doctor in the house. He was down for about five minutes while I (and several others) ran outside and told the staff to call an ambulance. It was all very dramatic but eventually the fella got to his feet and walked out and we finished the film off without further ado.
During the day, I had to go to King's College Hospital for an MRI scan on my back. The machine was a lot bigger than I imagined and took up half the room, which had a very cold breeze running through it.
I had to lay on a narrow trolley under a blanket and wear some headphones. Then I was slid into the tunnel. There wasn't much room inside - I wondered how they fitted fat people in there - and the ceiling was just a few inches from my face made of the sort of plastic which surrounds aeroplane windows.
I found it better to keep my eyes shut. The operator played some smashing hits through the headphones. I had Robbie's Rock DJ during the first scan. The machine made some very musical clunks and clicks and while I couldn't really feel anything, my engagement ring, which I was allowed to keep on, seemed to be vibrating on my finger.
After about five scans I was slid back out and told to get changed and go. The consultant would be in touch with the results in a few weeks.
Funnily enough, he can go to hell. During the initial consultation, when he didn't even examine my back, he quite flippantly told me I had a congenital birth defect and there was not much he could do, despite at the time I couldn't actually stand up straight, and that there were other people with proper complaints. It was then that I lost the last slither of faith I had in the NHS and went to the chiropractor.
Now, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Joel has magic hands! That man has saved me from a life of crippling pain. So fuck the doctors and their fucking congenital birth defects. Let's see what is made of the scans!
Poor old TOH was stuck between two weeping women, my silent tears rolling down cheeks and the woman next to him, who was moaning and snorting and boo-hooing like she had no shame.
Do I need to say this was a emotional film? A bloody good one though - out of all the Oscar contenders, this one should wipe the floor. Eastwood, Freeman and Swank should all go home with a trophy.
The funny thing was, that during the film, right after a really tragic bit, some bloke in the audience suddenly fell down the steps of the auditorium. Everyone was on their feet shouting 'you alright mate?' and 'Are you diabetic?' and calling for doctor in the house. He was down for about five minutes while I (and several others) ran outside and told the staff to call an ambulance. It was all very dramatic but eventually the fella got to his feet and walked out and we finished the film off without further ado.
During the day, I had to go to King's College Hospital for an MRI scan on my back. The machine was a lot bigger than I imagined and took up half the room, which had a very cold breeze running through it.
I had to lay on a narrow trolley under a blanket and wear some headphones. Then I was slid into the tunnel. There wasn't much room inside - I wondered how they fitted fat people in there - and the ceiling was just a few inches from my face made of the sort of plastic which surrounds aeroplane windows.
I found it better to keep my eyes shut. The operator played some smashing hits through the headphones. I had Robbie's Rock DJ during the first scan. The machine made some very musical clunks and clicks and while I couldn't really feel anything, my engagement ring, which I was allowed to keep on, seemed to be vibrating on my finger.
After about five scans I was slid back out and told to get changed and go. The consultant would be in touch with the results in a few weeks.
Funnily enough, he can go to hell. During the initial consultation, when he didn't even examine my back, he quite flippantly told me I had a congenital birth defect and there was not much he could do, despite at the time I couldn't actually stand up straight, and that there were other people with proper complaints. It was then that I lost the last slither of faith I had in the NHS and went to the chiropractor.
Now, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Joel has magic hands! That man has saved me from a life of crippling pain. So fuck the doctors and their fucking congenital birth defects. Let's see what is made of the scans!
posted by The WyeBird @ 9:12 pm
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