My Doctor Hates Me

I’ve been really ill so I went to the doctor.  Not because I was ill, but because my job refused to believe I was ill unless I paid sixty euro to a doctor to scribble a note to them saying ‘she is ill’.

Sixty euro?  I want something more than mere notage from a doctor.

‘Can I have some sleeping tablets?’

‘Why do you want sleeping tablets?’

‘To help me sleep.’

‘Why can’t you sleep?’

‘I am stressed out.’

‘You should assess the root of your stress which will help you sleep.’

‘I have and I am trying to deal with my problems.  However I am very tired.’

‘I am not giving you sleeping tablets.’

‘I haven’t slept properly in two years.  I would love a night off.’

‘This is no good.  Why are you stressed?’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘I need to understand why you are not sleeping.’

‘I am not sleeping because I am worried all the time.  Can you give me something to help me sleep?’

‘No because tablets will not solve your problems.’

‘I am not looking for tablets to solve my problems.  I just want some sleep.’

‘You need to work out why you are worried and work on that.’

‘I am working on them.  In the meantime it would be great to get some good night’s sleep before work.’

‘I need to know why you are stressed.’

‘I don’t want to talk to you about it.’

‘But I need to know.’

At this stage, I burst into tears, quite by accident.

I get two weeks worth of sleeping tablets, and my sick note says I have the shits.

 

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