This week, Doctor Sinnick discusses the case of a patient with haemorrhoids.
Before he came in I'd checked his files - the case notes showing a plague of piles
I asked him about his current state, though anything rectal is my special hate.
I said to him.
"Well, now, let's check your fate. Perhaps it's a scissors job if not too late."
Then, for amusement, I said to him, my finger poised around the rim
"Excuse me as I go through the motion. Try not to scream or cause commotion. But I need to check to find a potion."
I heard him chuckle and his sphincter closed
A reflex action I supposed
I said to him.
"Just you lie there and keep quite still. I may have to insert a special pill"
It wasn't meant to be so funny, but the humour was shared and he called to me from the other end of the couch
"Your poetry, Doc, is good by half. I like the rhymes and all your lines. They sure do make me laugh."
So I said to him.
"Then, for my sake, please. Swear on your heart. Try your utmost, do your part. Concentrate, try not to fart!"
