Being fully sick

Posted: February 26, 2016 in uncategorised

I’ve been taking antibiotics now for three days. Effectively making me super strong, super fast, super smart and super powerful. It began like this:

I didn’t know what was wrong, nobody I knew had a big clue, so I went to see the man that knows these things; Doctor Han.
The doc is an insane WorldWar II scientist, locked up for his crazy but brilliant ideas. His work on supernatural and alternative forms of creating the ultimate super soldier led to the creation of skittles (the sweets), lego and the discovery of water. He now works at Manningham Surgery as a GP.
I went to see him, and listened to some of his mental ideas.
He reckoned I was sick.

He gave me some secret codes to give to the pharmacist, and showed me the secret wink, and the secret handshake; all of which would be needed if I wanted the cure.
He told me how long I had left to live; about 22 thousand days, same as normal. But he told me if I didn’t take the cure, then it could all go up in smoke. All those dreams of eating ten bags of maltesers in a row, of choking out a blue whale with an old Roman chariot, of shaking hands with the King of Atlantis under the sea, they would all go up in smoke. I couldn’t let that happen.

So I set out to the forgotten monastery in the realm of the damned, which happened to be one floor up from the
GP clinic, also known as the pharmacy.
When I got there the place was filled with the dead and dying. Some with only about 5 thousand days left, some with about 30 thousand, all on their way out. A dirty looking, but physically very clean, pharmacist asked me if I needed any help. When I showed him the passcodes, and did the wink and the handshake, he was aghast.
But then he smiled an evil smile, led me over to what I thought was a plain wall, he yelled something in Gaelic and the wall exploded. I followed him down into a dungeon of clanking chains, wheels and cogs, all spinning and grinding, when finally we came upon a chest, glowing red with devious intent.
The chest was the size of a car, but with the pharmacist heaved it open with inhuman strength. He told me to gaze inside.

At first all I could see was my reflection in dark water, but as I gazed a packet of antibiotics slowly rose to the surface.
‘Take it’ he said.
The packet had writing all over, none of which I could understand.
‘You must take one three times a day, eight hours apart, with or without food’.
I nodded.
‘Are you on any other medication?’.
I nodded.

Upon leaving Manningham Surgery I was filled with intrigue. I held the packet close and made the journey home, but on the way, I was sure I could hear voices in my head; calling me, daring me to rip open the packet, and claim my true power.

Three days later and I’m feeling pretty good.

Long story short is my mum got pneumonia, then I got the flu, and just as I stopped having the flu, I got a bit o’good ol’pneumonia too. My doctor is called Wenruo Han. He’s the bomb diggety. Pretty sure if he could go fight people’s illnesses hand to hand, inside their bodies, as a super powered white blood cell kung fu master, then he would.

I tell you what the funny thing is, he literally just called me 2 seconds ago as I am in the middle of writing this. Telling me about getting a checkup done and asking about symptoms and stuff. He’s a good doctor.

I hope you are healthy today too!



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