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I feel it in my water

4 January, in the year of our Lord 2022

Up betimes, ill-slept after my being so restless yesterday, which was cold and a holyday. After breakfast made my Call to Dr. Burnett, but found him away, so must discribe my symptomes to Dr. K. Roberts (which is a woman, though well-bred) and tell how I filled am I with a great foreboding lest they mark the return of my stone, which I was cut for these many years, or worse. The settlement thus: viz., that I may take a second antebiotick, but matters must first be subject to an examination for Culture and Sensitivitie (at which I feel slighted for she must know me to own these attributes, so I retort that my median score for Wordle is 4 goes, and that I am frequently brought to tears when a shabby heirloom is declared priceless on the Anticks Road Show); second, I must apply a cataplasm to my cods to draw out any bad humour; third, that in fourteen days I must provide a blood sample, which is to be tested for tumor poison; and, last, that an appoyntment is to be made for me to attend old St. Judes Hospitalle, where a Specialist of her acquaintence hath invented a contryvance of great optickle complexitie that enables him to peer within the very vesica urinaria itself. I think that this must be like the magick rays that produce a picture of my fathers chest, so say merrily, ‘Anything non-invasive is fine by me.’ I suspect a snort of suppressed laughter, but moving quickly on she tells me of a consideracion which I vouchsafe had crossed my own mind (for I once went to a fine lecture by Dr. Tearne at Chyrurgeon’s Hall on the kidneys, ureters, &c., and afterwards Dr. Scarborough did shew very clearly the manner of the disease of the stone), which was that at my age there must be a concern as to the state of the glandulous body that sits beneath the Sphincter of the bladder, namely whether it be tumorose or no, and that the prostatae must be examined — though for a reason I did not understand I suspected a second snigger on opining that I thought she had put her finger on it. All day very cold, with a little snow at Mr. Jones house.  

By andywmacfarlane

I am a retired medic who likes messing around with a bit of writing, and friends seemed to like my social media postings of "Samuel Pepys: The Covid Diaries". So I'm having a go at blogging them.

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