On Call : Dr. Daisy Dashwood writes........

"Well, Mr. Pringle," said Chuck, putting the finishing touches to the sutures. "I can safely say that we have a diagnosis for you. You have been abducted by aliens."

"Wha……..?" gasped Mr. Pringle, a short, rotund, red-faced man in his sixties.

"Oops," said Chuck, biting the thread. "Must be getting you confused with Mr. Sharp over there. Oy! Mr. Sharp!"

An equally short and circular gentle man looked up from inside the confines of a giant red poncho and looked blearily over at Chuck.

"Spaceship come again last night?" enquired Chuck.

"They were big and green and they were carrying squash rackets!" gasped Mr. Simmons.

"He works in a distillery," confided Chuck, nodding sagely. "It's the same with all these northern types. They all hit 30 and bam!, they're winos before you can sat Glenfiddich."

"My brother once worked in a distillery," began Mr. Sharp eagerly.

"Tell it to someone who cares," said Amos, breezing in. "Another alkie, Chuck? Another one for the old ABCD protocol."

"ABCD?" I asked. All these acronyms had not yet made a lasting impression on my brain and I was still nowhere near up to date with my ATLS and IL-2s. All I could say was, thank God for the WRVS.

"Advance, brief clerking and ditch," said Chuck. "Maradonna, tell me, how did you ever get into medicine?"

"Well, it's like this," explained Amos, hopping onto the procedures trolley. "My mother wanted me to enter the church, in the tradition of the Maradonna family. But I was not that way inclined. I felt I had more to offer the world. Sitting listening to a bunch of alcoholics bleating on about their life story, dosing out shots of communion to make them feel better, wearing the same old uniform day in, day out, ah, it wasn't for me."

Chuck and I exchanged looks.

"Madre de dieu!" exclaimed Amos. "I'm only as good as a priest! How did I ever become everything I despised?"

"'Salright", said Chuck. "It could be worse," jerking his head at Mr. Sharp.

"He's right, mate," said Mr. Pringle, knowingly.

"You shut up," snapped Amos.

"OK," said Mr. Pringle meekly.

"It could be worse, Amos," I said helpfully. "You could be a surgeon."

"Or an Obstetrician," put in Chuck.

We all gave a collective shudder.

"Sometimes I wish I was," said Amos darkly. "Anything would be better than the endless ward rounds of the same old green sputum, chest pain and overdoses. There was a time when a good-going dose of renal failure used to get me really fired up, but now it takes a lot more to turn me on."

We all leaned forward. He would be filling out our PHAST forms after all, and it could do no harm to appear interested.

"The surgeons have it easy," said Amos. "Their patients are knocked out for most of the time so they can't complain. They only bleed the buggers once a month so there's not half the problem we have with returned phleb chits, and did you ever hear of a surgical ward round that lasted nineteen hours."

"You obviously didn't study medicine in Aberdeen," murmured Chuck.

"Where I come from, there are no hospitals!" snapped Amos.

"But I thought you came from America?" I said, surprised. "I thought the 'Latino gigolo' thing was just for effect?"

"Do you think I get a tan this indigenous from 'Tanning Selectives?!" muttered Amos, incensed. "Can't you tell the real deal, Daisy? If there's one recommendation I make on your PHAST form, it'll be that you never work in Dermatology."

"Not ever?" I said pleadingly.

"Never ever," he said firmly. "I have you down as a Palliative Care Staff Grade."

"Ouch," said Chuck.

"Amos……" I said, not sure whether this was an insult or not. On the one hand, I could stay at home and be a mother to John's babies if I were a Staff Grade. On the other hand, John would have more of a free reign and I wasn't sure whether those secretaries he was bound to have could be trusted or not.

"I'm off to prepare my audit," said Amos darkly. "I'm damned if some sticky-fingered pup of an SHO is going to pip me to the post. AUDITFEST will be mine!"

"I'm almost temped to devise a small audit myself, " said Chuck, staring at Amos' retreating back. "Something really touchy-feely, something along the lines of Oncology. That'd have him so mad he wouldn't ever force another J-ho into doing an audit again."

"You haven't seen him in action, Chuckles," I said bitterly. This was the voice of experience speaking. I'd been down in Records far too long. Already, my left arm was 2 full inches longer than my right. At this rate, I'd be positively Marfanoid by February.

"Auditing a little too close to home?" enquired Chuck knowingly.

"Actually, no," I admitted. "It's still a good few minutes walk….oh, no, Osteoporosis is a really fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun subject."

"Or are you auditing somebody else," said Chuck casually.

"You really are too emotionally developed to be a man, Chuck," I said, smacking him playfully. "Have you ever considered gender reassignment."

"Actually, I have pondered it of the occasional moment," said Chuck amiably. "But the thought of ending up as the love-slave to the likes of Maradonna makes me reflexively reach for my privates every time the idea crosses my mind."

"Mrs. Maradonna seems to like him," I said doubtfully.

"Ah, she's probably got river blindness," said Chuck dismissively. "Either that, or she's a deaf mute."

"At least she still has the gift of sight," I said reasonably. "Amos is still very good-looking."

"I'm a bloke," said Chuck, stating the obvious. No girl was that hairy. "I'm not blinded by his charms. Only by those big gold medallions he insists on secreting under his shirt. That morning he turned to embrace the sunrise I honestly thought that maybe there was something in the legend of El Dorado. You know, him being Latino and all that."

"Anyway," he said, changing the subject. I didn't blame him. One glimpse of the medallion embellished with 'Mr. Loverman' was enough for me. "Anyway, Daisy. How are you and John getting on?"

"Oh, famously," I said coyly.

"Famous as in Humphrey and Ingrid or famous as in Mary Queen of Scots and Darnley?" asked Chuck.

"Er, more like Jane and er, Mr. Bingley," I said, blushing scarlet.

"And you know what happened to them?" prompted Chuck.

"He was driven away by Darcy!" put in Mr. Pringle, eagerly.

"You still here?" said Chuck, started. "Good God, man! Didn't you think something was a bit off when I started sewing down your neck and reached your shoulderblades?"

"I didn't like to say," mumbled Mr. Pringle, scuffing the floor.

"Go on, off with you," said Chuck, shooing him out of the cubicle. "Scram. Whoa! Wait till I bite the thread. And don't go getting that up close and personal with an iguana again, you hear?"

"Anyway," continued Chuck. "What I'm saying is, you don't want to leave it too late. You have to remember that you're not the only one around here who's single. And the likes of John Jones are pretty hard to come by. There's not that many Welsh-speaking valley boys left who have a better knowledge of sheep than women."

"You mean……?!" I gasped, horrified. Thank God we hadn't done anything. I could have caught brucellosis!

"No, woman," said Chuck. "I mean John doesn't have a clue about women. He's just about got their anatomy figured out from those 3 obligatory smear tests we all had to do in Phase III but apart from that, the only naked woman he's seen has been on Page 3 of 'The Sun'."

"No?!" I said, secretly pleased. That way, he might think cellulite was a normal phenomenon, only apparent on women.

"I'd move in there, Daisy," he said, dropping gracefully to the floor. "Could you ever forgive yourself if the likes of Mary got in there and converted him to a bible-bashing Welshie, unable to forage with his flock on a Sunday? I certainly couldn't."

"Well, it's just as well that you'll never have to forgive yourself," I said kindly.

"I meant you!" he said curtly. "Now, for the love of God, get in there Daisy. There's only so much yodelling a boy can stand."

"Thank-you Chuck," I said. It was nice to have an SHO who took on a more pastoral role.

**************************

"Fecking nurses!" spat Amos. "Fecking, fecking nurses!"

"You wish," said Gordon. "However, not in this hospital. It's still classified as a public place."

"Fecking P.C.A!" managed Amos, struggling to get the letters out, his face contorted with rage. I hated to think of the temperature those medallions must be heating up to by now.

"Amos got beaten in AUDITFEST by a nurse," supplied Janey, helpfully.

"And I came third to a dietician," moaned Amos, his head in his hands. "Oh, the shame of it! I would have been better off in the church!"

"At least you came third," said Dr. Berkeley sulkily. "Although why anyone wouldn't want to know about my anal retractors is beyond me."

Everyone's anal sphincters clamped instinctively shut. This was what had come to be known as the 'Berkeley reflex'.

"It's OK, they're not allowed to practise on medical students nowadays," whispered Angie.

I wasn't so sure. Some days, I could have sworn I'd seen Dr. B eyeing Darren with the kind of expression a dog might gaze at a tin of pedigree chum with. The nice kind, not the one with liver and heart.

"Don't worry Amos," I said helpfully. "You did us proud! Er, good show."

"Just because I'm past it doesn't mean I feel the need to be talked to like some character out of Fawlty Towers," simmered Amos. "Fecking nurses. Oh sorry Mr. So-and-So, I'll just withhold your cardiac medications because your high protein diet is just so much more clinically effective! Oh, and why don't I just take a day off whilst I'm at it, since you all seem to prefer those who can change BEDPANS to actually being cured!"

"Amos, Amos, Amos," soothed Dr. Berkeley, in the same tones I had heard him speak to his dog. "Don't fret. There was this one time I came second in a job interview, and I was the only one there."

"I will be in my office," said Amos, rising dignifiedly, and walking stiltedly from the room.

"Poor Amos," I said to John. "Imagine."

"Yep, one minute you're the greatest thing since sliced Hovis and the next thing you know, you're second best to a nurse," said Chuck matter-of-factly.

"And a dietician," I supplied.

"Yes, we know about the dietician, Daisy," said Chuck.

"Our little audit didn't go so badly, though," said John. "They seemed to like it."

"Yes, Dr. Flett especially," I mused.

"Yes, but he's related to the Calcichew rep," pointed out Chuck.

"Oh," I said, disappointed.

"Of course he isn't!" said Chuck. "But boy, does he ever like that drug. Rumour has it that he even arranged for a specially adapted 'Calcichew' theme song to be played at his wedding, to the tune of 'Agadoo'. You know, 'Calcichew, chew, chew, push a Granny, break her knee, Calcichew, chew, chew, there'll be lots of beds for me; To the left, to the right, down they go and break their knees, You'll get bleeped through the night, but there'll be lots of beds for me.""

"My!" gasped Mary, obviously impressed. Dr. Flett's ethics might have been called into question but there was no faulting his line in rhyming verse.

"No Daisy, I'm just pulling your leg," said Chuck kindly. "Dr. Flett loves his J-hos so much, he's even prepared to listen to their presentations."

"You listened too!" I said, put out.

"Ah, I was actually placing bets with myself as to when Amos would finally crack and start swearing at OT and physio," said Chuck.

"I'm glad we had the chance to work on the audit," I said to John.

"Me too," he said.

"So," I said.

"So," said John, staring at the back of Gordon's head.

"I was wondering, John," I began. "Would you…….would you like to celebrate finishing the audit?" There, I'd done it!

"I'd love to!" he said eagerly. "But on one condition."

"What's that?" I asked, worried. If we had to take Amos along on a mercy mission I might just have to drug him and hide his body under the table.

"It can't be remotely related to anything Austrian," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"MacDonald's?" I said happily.