Cancer routine – a typical hospital day

BloodVlad. Or: Another day in paradise.

Days in hospital are multiple, so you´d better get used to these funny creatures, the assistant doctors. Don´t despair though, but have fun! Nicole, this is for you. Enjoy!

The other day, when I was in hospital to have surgery, a brand-new assistant doctor came to me. And he was obviously quite freaked out by the fact that I was a – woman. Which is interesting because this was the gynecological department of the hospital and he was training to become a – right, gynecologist.

And on top of that he seemed quite horrified by the fact that it was then his task to take some of my blood. And on the very top of this he realised that he would have to communicate in my language, as I didn’t speak his.

Which brings us back to basic requirements such as language classes for foreign doctors so that they know they will have to deal with women and their breasts and vaginas, respectively, if they sign a contract for training in a gynecological department. And not with the ballsacks of old men. Or customers in a clothes store. Or bread in a bakery.  Yippee!

Well, anyway, I felt sorry for him from the moment he opened the door to my room and realisation dawned upon him.

Probably, he was a baker from eastern Moldavia, and, in the first place he had come to Germany to learn more about the fantastic Vollkornbrot that is loved around the world, seemingly (what with all the German bakeries everywhere, even in the remotest parts of the remotest countries) but somehow ended up working in a hospital, being mistaken for an exchange assistant doctor.

Who knows? The young gentleman had obviously complied to his fate and was ready to take some of my blood. But then he freaked ME out!

Back to the door, and the young Moldavian baker entering my room with a tray and a syringe in his hand. He had obviously worked for 38+ hours, which became quite evident from the look of his eyes, which were blood-shot, and his face that was ashen.

He stared at me like one of the characters from a role game, where you can acquire qualities such as “zombie stare” in a zombie reaction table, lifted the tray with the syringe and said what sounded like “Vlad”.

I pissed my pants because I thought I was facing Vlad the Impaler Himself who had just made introductions and was then after me and my blood.

But fuck! I was tied to my bed by a drip and two redon bottles filled with bloody liquid. My second idea was to offer the bottles to him to satiate his blood-thirst.

He must have read my mind because he lifted his tray-hand again and breathed through gritted teeth “blood”. Ha, now he was talking straight. So there was Vlad, wanting my blood. But ho, not with me.

My mind was racing as I speedily calculated my odds. I could see more clearly now why doctors were able to work such long shifts! – They were all vampires.

But don’t these creatures of the dark all descend from Transsylvanian ancestry and not from Moldavia?! What the fuck, I thought, because that was not the time for geographical debate but rather a question of life and death. And it was him or me.

Okay then. I pondered my up until then rather non-violent stand in questions of social interaction, but happily enough my moral notions are rather flexible. So it was him then.

Thus I lifted my drip stand and hauled it towards his chest, where it hit home and pierced his heart. Thank the whatever for my javelin throwing lessons at school. Fare thee well, you oversized bat, arri-non-vederci.

Yours, bloodily,

Maid Manu.

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