Old Diary Entry November 2012

So, my psychiatrist thinks I avoid serious things by cracking jokes. At which point I cracked a joke about his bald spot and funny pants. He has a sense of humour, of course, but perhaps he is right.

But hospitals are like cheese. You leave them for long enough and they grow mould. Mould being humour. Okay, so that was a stupid analogy, but it works for me.

I was booked in two nights ago, and from the moment I was admitted, I have been collecting mould.

The form that gets filled in when they admit you is a standard one. Lillian…lovely Lilly, the nurse with bigger boobs than mine, that came and sat with me to go through the form, was someone I will never forget. She wanted to know why I was there. I told her I liked hospitals and that I was mentally ill and that there was a very high chance that I would murder all the staff and most of the patients. She grinned (which was very scary… considering what I had just said) closed the curtains around my bed, came and sat, no… snuggled up against my bed, and said, ‘Do you smoke?’.

‘Yes. Do you?’

‘Yes. But not cigarettes.’ At which point she pulled a joint out of her bra. Her Mary Poppins abyss of a bra. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ Was her next question.

‘No. Boyfriends are bad karma with skin. Do you?’

‘Yes. A Nigerian one.’ She grinned again. ‘Aaaaiy. Don’t look at me like that. He isn’t a bad one.’

You see?? Mould. That was my first bit of mould. The next came with my introduction to the women in my ward. Next to me on my right was a woman who had she pulled her hair any tighter back into her ponytail would have resembled a mummified Asian Siamese cat. I say mummified, because she was old. She sounded just like a man. Her husband looked just like Mr. Bean, just without the bobbly eyes.

Next to cat-woman was a woman with MS. She never stops talking. Ever. Ever ever ever ever. I found her going through my drawers for a cigarette. And she sprayed perfume on me as I walked past her. When I got angry she said it was because we were both smokers and we shouldn’t smell like smoke if we want to find husbands.

I made the mistake of having a smoke with her once and I now know all about the fact that she much prefers being constipated to having the runs.

My next bit of mould was when I was given tea instead of coffee. A tell tale sign that I don’t ever drink the sort of tea that comes attached to those fancy little strings that you hold and dunk into your hot water. I tried to pull it off, and flung little bits of tea… bits… everywhere. Down my cleavage, in my hair, in the pockets of my night gown and it even managed to land in my slippers. In defence of myself though, it looked like there were two tea bags and that I needed to separate them somehow. Apparently not, but still.

And then there are my visitors. I think the nurses think I am some sort of prostitute with good medical insurance. In one day I had six men all about the age of 30 come and see me. All gave me a long hug and all gave me a kiss on the cheek. I could see the looks I was getting. And I was asked afterwards so I just said they were all my husbands, but they mustn’t say anything. Hahhaha.

To be continued… because I’m still here.


Having had a shower. I feel human. The guilt of having practically raced an older quite frail looking man there and beat him – has dulled somewhat. There are three showers in this ward – and THAT one was the one that had a lockable door. I have boobs. Its only right that I get the lockable one. I am a lady (when I’m not being psychotic) and… well.. I’m right. I think. And – it’s tough tittles really – I moved faster. I after all, didn’t have a walking frame.

Yes, those of you that know me well know I will feel bad about that for ever. I will. SUCKS. I will go make friends with him later. Buy him a muffin or something. Pray he isn’t diabetic. Sent him into prophylactic shock. Kill him. That would be swell.

Ok. So I think the woman opposite me is praying. Either that or she is dying. She is on her back and her hands are in the pray mantis position. Maybe I should call someone….

….. Oh… she moved. Okay. False alarm.


Doctor has been to see me. They are keeping me another night.

To be continued……..


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s