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It's Not Rocket Science.

by Omnipotent @ 2008-03-12 - 13:07:18

How difficult can it be?
You write to the doctor requesting a private medical certificate (his idea, not mine)!
Three days later, nothing has been done about it.
Maybe they would like to pay my mortgage this month.......bloody numpties.

Just called the doc's surgery. They have sent the certificate directly to my insurers AND were going to charge them for it !!
They have a copy for me, so I says the wife will pick it up.
I have to supply my wife with a letter so she can collect it!
The receptionist said "We need to make sure we give it to the right person. Sometimes people's names are very similar."
No shit, says I. She's my f***ing wife, of course her name's similar! How many people with our surname have you issued a private medical certificate to in the last 24 hours?!

They just make being ill / injured / disabled bloody unbearable.

I can feel a poem coming on!

Doctor doctor what's wrong with me?
I'm not actually ill, you see.
I have no temperature, fever or chills,
You just can't cure me with lots of pills.

I suffered an injury back in May,
And since then have had no pay.
To make things worse, as I'm sure you're aware,
For ages now, I've been under your care.

I've seen more specialists than Britney Spears,
Yet each time I call you I end up in tears.
You seem to think there's nothing wrong with me,
That's 'cos you lack X-Ray vision, you see.

My pains are such you can't see them outside,
That's 'cos it's my bones..they're on the inside.
So when I come to see you and say I'm in pain,
Don't just flush my emotions down the drain.

Maybe one day when you're old and crippled,
And your skin with melanoma is stippled.
You'll look back at my visits past,
And think "He was right!" at last.

So next time I call for another sick-note,
Think yourself lucky you're not in the same boat.
'Cos if you were, I'm sure you'd understand
That it really is painful, from my foot to my hand.

One last thing before I bid you adieu,
Why must I always wait in a queue?
Before ending up talking to some total air-head,
Who, I'm quite convinced, has left her brain in bed.


 
 

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