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Having a run of bad luck

ARRGH and begorrah! It's been a week where that Irish bastard Murphy is hanging around again! I thought the Irish were supposed to bring you luck. If so, why is this bloke called Murphy?

It was time to have my second colonoscopy. To all you wimps out there who are over 50 and haven't had one, bite the bullet and book yourself in. They knock you out and when you wake up, you get a nice cuppa coffee and a (in my case) muffin.

The only downside is that you eat nothing the day before and have to swallow three doses of Picaprep - which is akin to rinsing your guts out with sickly-sweet paint stripper. The first dose not so bad; the second you gag a bit and the third is nauseating. Still, far better than the possible alternative.

I was booked in for 11am so my last dose was at 7am on the morning of the Candid Camera event.

Figured I would go into work, help my relief sort the mail and get out before my innards did, so to speak.

But I didn't count on Murphy who made sure that we received the biggest mail drop since last Christmas.

Started sorting at 6am, swallowed the dreaded stuff at 7am and was still sorting at 9am, by which time my guts was screaming at me. This after a night of little sleep thanks to the first two doses.

Gave up, and leaving Ian to finish off, I headed home to the privacy of my own porcelain. Time for the candid camera and Rita dropped me off at the hospital.

Finally, after three hours they drugged me up and did the procedure. When I woke up the surgeon happily informed me that all went well but he wants me back in three months to remove one last polyp.

What?! It's not supposed to be three months but rather three years which gives you time to forget how bad the Picaprep is! Bloody Murphy! They took me back to recovery and with the first bite of my muffin, a cap came out.

Now Murphy's pulling teeth. Next day to the dentist and instead of gluing and screwing it back in, he sends the cap away for some work so I have to spend the weekend looking like a Collingwood supporter.

Meantime Murphy is working on Rita who has dropped one of her precious earrings given to her by son, Steve. It has bounced on the floor, out the door and gone, only God (and Murphy) knows where. Poor Rita goes to bed crying.

The next day we have to go down the line to do some Christmas shopping before Rita goes into hospital for three weeks. I pull into a servo and fill up. Going in to pay I flick open the wallet to find my credit card missing! Do you know how sick that makes you feel?

This was just Murphy joshing with me as it turned out Rita had borrowed it and forgotten to put it back. Didn't do my nerves a lot of good though.

Down the line to the shopping centre and things are progressing pretty well, with us finding most of the things on our list.

That is until I decide to take some of the stuff to the car. Yep, you guessed it. I'd dropped the car keys!

Murphy is really starting to piss me off! We retraced our steps as best we could remember through the umpteen stores we'd been in, to no avail. Checked with centre management. Nothing.

I really needed a good strong drink by now but Murphy had ensured we were in a dry shopping centre. Strong coffee had to suffice. I rang my sister and pleaded for her to bring the spare set down. Half an hour later she arrived, just as centre management announced that they had found some keys.

Sister NOT happy, but Murphy is killing himself laughing. To round out the day we got home to find that Murphy had changed the recording function on the IQ box and we'd missed one of our favourite shows.

I said to Rita that at least Murphy had given me something to write about for this column. As I noted down the events, Murphy had one last laugh. The pen ran out of ink! PS: I did eventually find Rita's earring. Maybe Murphy has moved on to your place.

Take care of You

Kermie, 0418 139 415, kermie52@bigpond.com

Big Rigs

Topics:  graham harsant, life with kermie


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