Warning! This story contains partial nudity, vomiting and needles!
The year was 1986. I was no more than a tiny Devlet, aged six and a half. I was a sickly child, and on this particular occasion I had been admitted to hospital to have my tonsils removed, my adenoids taken out, and to have grommets put in to my ears.

In short, I must’ve been an ENT Surgeon’s wet dream. If they were in to that sort of thing, I mean.

And here starts my tale of surgical woe. I had been in hospital a year previously to have a *ahem* delicate operation on my manly maracas. As it was, I lay on the hospital bed in the comforting arms of my mother, wrapped in a surgical gown, crying about how I "didn’t wanna" have the operation done, as I knew it’d be all "hurty afterwards." My mother cooed and soothed me with words like “don’t worry darling. They’ll come and give you a magic drink that will make you go to sleep, like last time, remember?”

“P-p-promise?” I snuffled.

“I promise.” She gazed down in to my eyes, and I trusted her.

Then, the nurse entered the room. As I had been clinging on to my mother, my surgical gown had come open at the back, revealing the pale peach that was, and remains to be, my bottom.

“That’s what I like to see!” she cried and, with athletic grace, gleefully drove a needle deep in to the flesh of my rump.

Half an hour later, they managed to prise me off of the ceiling. I’d already learned two things that day – the NHS is staffed purely by psychopathic nurses and grown-ups always – without exception – lie. I was beginning to feel woozy as they placed me on the bed, and started the journey to the operating theatre.

The next thing I remember I awoke to see a lady in a green mask, leaning over me with a mask attached to a tube in her hand.

“Would you like to play space-men,” she said “or would you like to play with the gas?”

“Play wi’ th’ gas...” I replied.

With that, the mask came down on my face. “Count to ten for me, sweetheart” she said (well, perhaps they’re not all psycho after all). “Easy!” thought I “10... 9...” – and that was it. Sent deep in to an anaesthetic sleep to dream of robot sheep.

Some 24 hours later, I awoke (even now, I have notes in my records advising medical staff that my body’s reaction to anaesthesia is to sleep for ages). Blearily, I looked around. I saw my mother and my father standing at my bedside, looking tired and stressed. I saw Fred, the Pound Puppy I had been brought to keep me company, on my pillow. Mum leaned in, smiled, and said:

“How are we, my brave soldier?”

“BLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRCCHHHHHHHHH!!” I replied, with some force. Straight in to her face.

Now, the thing with tonsil operations in the 80’s was the tool they used was, without a shadow of a doubt, evil. They place a loop around your tonsil, then slid a knife down the length of the handle, cutting the tonsil off. It would then drop neatly in to a small basket under the loop. This would leave the freely bleeding wound to pour huge amounts of blood straight down your gullet.

So now I was throwing up my own blood on to the angelic face of my mother. She hurried aside to clean herself off. Dad approached, with an appreciable degree of caution, holding a sort of plate for catching sick on.

I greeted him:

“ BLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRCCHHHHHHHHH!!”, the force of my vomitus rebounding off the plate and leaping in a graceful arc in to his face.

“ BLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRCCHHHHHHHHH!!” I said again, this time covering the length of my beadsheet with a river of crimson sick.

One by one the other children on the ward were waking up and, as if in some kind of grotesque call of the wild, began throwing up.

“ BLEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRCCHHHHHHHHH!!” we all sang in unison, the many and varied colours of our projections staining the sheets and walls and parents of the ward, the assorted smells of post-op bile filling the air.

I learnt another thing that day. Parents, no matter how much they say they love you, can look mightily disappointed when you upchuck your own blood in to their faces.

As a small epilogue to this story, my tonsils actually ended up in a teaching hospital, as an example of the biggest tonsils they’d ever seen. Dunno what happened to my adenoids though, I guess no-one cares about those.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:35, 11 replies)

I liked this
So I clicked...

I did a similar thing to a nurse after I had my appendix out. Not because I had blood in my stomach (that would have been a world-class fuck up by the doctors), but because I felt very sick and wanted to share!
( Moey, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:45, closed)

brilliant!
so *click*
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:48, closed)

my brother
had a bonfire related injury when he was about 10. He'd burned his hands and had to have them cleaned up and the huge blisters removed daily while he was in hospital.

That being a rather unpleasant process, he was duly dosed up on gas & air for the duration. My parents hope the ground would swallow them up when he said to a nurse "Have you seen the fucking size of your nose?, you fat bitch?"

I suppose it's still preferable to being vomited on.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:50, closed)

^Greencloud, that has to be a future QOTW winner.
You just need the question to be "Embarassing things said under the influence"
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 14:55, closed)

clicked
Ah, officeLOL - we meet again.
(Shippy likes linebreaks and doesn't care what you think, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 15:21, closed)

Loud laughter in the office
makes peopole look at me funnily.

*clicks*
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 17:21, closed)

*I* care about your adenoids,
provided they have a story as funny as this one to go with them.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 20:28, closed)

I can't be the only one wondering
what they did to your bollocks, or have I got the wrong end of the stick?
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 21:13, closed)

I just collapsed onto the floor laughing
And at exactly the same time my flatmate walked in and announced that she's pregnant (to her boyfriend, not me). She wasn't happy about it to begin with, and the look she gave me was pure death. So of course I laughed all the harder, being the heartless tithead that I am.

Click
(Helixdaunting, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 8:21, closed)

hehe
Another amusing B3ta read, another keyboard covered in tea...
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:14, closed)

Aren't nurses bastards?
Yep, reminds me of my childhood under the knife.

Well written too.

*clicks*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 13 Aug 2008, 16:05, closed)