Mercy Mission

A 1-post collection

::William Tell Overture::

Run! Gotta run! Gotta get up and then drive down to MeMum. To MeMum. To MeMum. To MeMum. To MeMum. To MeMum. To MeMuuuuuuuuum...

And that's where I run out of meter, alas. Wasn't even going to try for rhyme. I only get that clever when I'm rat-faced tired, and I don't get rat-faced tired any more. Thanks, Keto.

Today is the big day. And like all big days, I have already had my 3AM panic session including a little taste of Bronchial Obstruction. It was all psychosomatic, of course. I checked my nails.

Today is the first time in my life that I'm fighting for someone else's.

I have to remain civil and debunk fifty years of bad science so that MeMum's doctor can see the wisdom behind a better diet than what Mum's currently doing. And what I hear of Mum's diet currently gives me the horrors.

No pressure.

I hope to gain a more complete picture of everything, give the doctor a little bit of useful knowledge, and maybe save a life.

What I'm probably going to get, especially out of MeMum, is a decades-long argument. Nobody holds a grudge like Mum's side of the family. Science won't work against her iron-clad faith in doctors. And let's face it. Doctors have been accidentally or unintentionally killing their patients since there were doctors. I could go all the way back to "scientific" bloodletting and humours if I have to.


All I have to do now is post and publish the Instant I wrote yesterday, let my assorted social accounts know about it, finish off my salty broth, and then I'm offski.

On a two-hour trip there. With a side order of hurry-up-and-wait. Followed by the mental acrobatics of a lifetime. And then a two-hour trip back.

As Courage the cowardly dog said, "The things I do for love..."