Tag Archives: Hospital

Joke 881

21 Aug
Your call is very important to us

Your call is very important to us (Photo credit: cheerfulmonk)

My dear Viv phoned me from her hospital bed in France to share this joke.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

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A man was chatting to a psychiatrist and the conversation turned to what criteria he used to determine that a patient should be institutionalized.

“Well,” said the psychiatrist, “I fill a bath with water and then I offer a teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask them to empty the bath.  Tell me,” the psychiatrist continued, “would you use the teaspoon, the teacup or the bucket?”

“Oh, definitely the bucket.  Any normal person would choose that because it is bigger than the spoon or the cup.”

“No,” said the Director, “a normal person would pull the plug.  Do you want a room with a view?”

***

And here’s a joke just for Viv, but you can read it, too.

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“Just relax”, the hospital staff kept telling Jim, but it was to no avail.  Jim’s  wife was in labour and Jim was a nervous wreck. After what seemed like a week, to both Jim and the hospital staff, a nurse came out with the happy news, “It’s a  girl!”

“Thank goodness it’s a girl,” said Jim, “at least she won’t have to go through what I just went through!”

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Read more:  Hospital Jokes http://www.greatcleanjokes.com/jokes/doctor-humor/hospital-jokes/#ixzz2cXYVeOcY

Happy Birthday, Viv!

1 Dec

Our lovely Viv is 75 today!

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Viv is still in hospital but on the mend and desperate to access the internet.

To celebrate her birthday, I have written a simple senryu, to complement the one she wrote yesterday, in her hospital bed, on the spot and over the phone to her daughter, who posted it on Viv’s blog.

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Viv has been alive
for seventy-five years.  I
am glad she is here.

Visit her blog and
push her numbers up to
80k.  Make her day.

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Happy Birthday, Viv!  We miss you.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

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Get Well Soon, Viv!

24 Nov

6WS friend Viv is in hospital

I know a lot of you visit Viv through Six Word Saturday, so I thought you’d like to know she’s in hospital.

The phone rang yesterday:

TB: Hello?  Whoisitwhaddyawantstopbotheringmewiththesestupidcoldcalls!

Viv: It’s Viv.

TB: Bev?

Viv: Viv!

TB: Bev who?

Viv: I’m going to climb out of this hospital bed and onto a plane and knock the dumb out of you if you don’t open your ears.  Viv!

Okay, I might have made that last bit up, which you all know because you know how lovely and sweet and generous and kind and caring Viv is; but I don’t do mushy, so I make stuff up to mask my anxiety.

Viv’s main problem is that she’s been unhooked from wi-fi.  The only cure for that is to get out of hospital ASAP and come home.

Get well soon, my lovely Viv.

 

Joke 105

7 Jul

A nurse is giving a new intern a tour of the hospital.

The intern approaches one bedridden patient and asks, “Why are you here?”

The patient replies, “Wee sleket cowerin’ timrous beastie/O, what a panic is in thy breastie.”

The intern moves on to the next bed and asks the same question.  

The patient answers, “O, my luve’s like a red, red, rose that’s newly sprung in June.”

At the third bed the intern asks again, “Why are you here?” 

The third patient replies, “The best laid plans of mice and men, may often gang awry.”

At this, the intern turns to the nurse and asks, “What ward is this anyway?”

The nurse answers, “It’s the Burns Unit.”

Joke 54

17 May

The hospital regulations required a wheel chair for patients being discharged. 

However, while working as a student aide, Sam found one elderly gentleman already dressed and sitting on the bed with a suitcase at his feet, who insisted he didn’t need Sam’s help to leave the hospital. 

After a chat about rules being rules, he reluctantly let Sam wheel him to the elevator. 

On the way down Sam asked him if his wife was meeting him. 

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “She’s upstairs in the bathroom changing out of her hospital gown.”

Well That’s A Relief; Now What?

6 Oct
Peripheral blood film of a patient with iron d...

Image via Wikipedia

 

Good news, sort of: there is no sign of cancer in the Hub (though they didn’t look at his soul; I don’t think they have a camera for that).  They biopsied a polyp but they tell us that’s routine.  However, if no news is good news, it’s still no news; there’s no explanation yet for the Hub’s anaemia.  He will be called back for a discussion at some point and he just has to keep taking the iron tablets. 

It was a long day yesterday.  The Hub was to be given a sedative and had to be accompanied home afterwards; I don’t drive so we had to get a taxi to the hospital: two buses and a fair bit of walking are two buses and a fair bit of walking too much for the Hub at the moment.  He’s not breathing well – a combination of the anaemia and a chest infection; his pallor gives the word ‘grey’ a bad name; he is in more pain than usual because he had to come off the anti-inflammatories; and he has the ongoing CFS/ME, of course.  He is one sorry little puppy.  He’s so unwell, we haven’t had an argument in days; never thought there’d be a day when I missed his pig-headed shouty view of the world; but I do. 

 

Still, enough about him.  I had a horrible day too, but nobody wipes my brow.  While I waited for him, I had to read two books and the paper, drink tea, eat crisps and chocolate and sit on a chair deemed too cruel for use by the Spanish Inquisition.  That was a long three-and-a-half-hours.  Well, it would have been, if I hadn’t had two books, the paper and lots of snacks to keep me going.  Why don’t hospitals add a library or a tv room or something for family & friends?  Even a comfortable chair would help.  But no, it’s all spend the money on the patients; look after the patients; make the patients comfortable while they wait two hours for their procedure. 

We arrived twenty minutes early, so that bit was our fault.  They took him in early and made him wait over two hours, so that was their fault.  They prodded and questioned before the Big Probe and gave him paper boxers to wear under a girly gown.  You check in your dignity along with your valuables when you go into hospital; luckily for the Hub, he’s used to that, appearing in my blog every day.  He said they pumped him full of air and he lay in a ward at some point, having a fart-off with the other testees.  He swears he did one four minutes-long.  At last I have competition!  

 

Pardon my vulgarity; I was not brought up that way, as Rizzo would say that Sandra Dee would say.  Of Irish Catholic descent, I come from what my mother called the capital of Ireland, Liverpool; and we are a refined lot.  We always say ‘please’ when we ask for your wallet and jewellery; and we never steal your tyres without resting your car on even piles of bricks.   

 

It must be the Mancunian rubbing off on me after all these years, though I don’t think it does take years: Tarik the taxi driver, who told us he hasn’t been here that long, had a fund of horror stories to share about his life in Levenshulme; most of which seemed to involve being on his break and eating pizzas and kebabs while he watched young men knock out their drug addict girlfriends and youths insult grannies and generally behave in an anti-social but all-too Mancunian manner. 

The taxi driver going home was Stockport-born and bred, but he talked just as much.  So much, in fact, that he forgot to turn on his meter until we were halfway home, and had to ask us how much he should charge.  I gave him a decent tip.  I wouldn’t have normally, what with being Scouse and knowing the value of a penny; but my husband had just been told he was cancer-free and I was in the mood to celebrate.  Now, if I can just rile the Hub so he yells at me, we’ll all be happy. 

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The prompt for this week’s We Write Poems is What’s for dinner?  I haven’t been in the mood to write poetry this week, so I dug up some old ones on the same theme. 

A Recipe For Torture 

Starter: 

Too many cooks
Not enough broth
 

Main Course: 

Four planes
Dead thousands
One paralysed nation
 

Stir until hatred reaches a peak. 

Desserts: 

One concrete cell
One bucket of water
Two bare feet
A dash of electricity
 

Throw together and watch carefully
as your suspect surges the walls.
Look on in satisfaction.
Extract information.
Discard waste.
 

Please note: No guarantees can be given that
following this recipe will produce the desired results.
 

  

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Recipe for Contentment  

Ingredients: food,
good film, children home, husband,
dog.  Mix well.  Relax.
 

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How To Bake A Cake  

With care and good scales
or you’ll fail.
You’ll burn it;
flop it; scrape
it off the
plate and pop
it in the bin,
   to your children’s accompanying wails.
 

  

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