After no doubt assembling the startling array of recommended emergency resuscitation
drugs and equipment which the curious may look up on the Net, they hit her
with the OKT3 a couple of nights ago. After ten minutes she emitted a loud
snore and went to sleep. They looked in on her a few more times and then
shrugged and went home.
This in contrast to her friend who had wailed and screamed that she was dying and made them bring in her husband at 2 am. You may be sure I was doubly glad that J was free of the bad side effects.
Yesterday Joc was in fact dopey all day so last night they decided to try omitting the precautionary antihistamines. They also advanced on her in the middle of the night in gowns, masks and goggles, bearing a bright purple container adorned with skull-and-crossbones and marked 'CYTOTOXIC', from which they removed some frightful substance and injected it into our Joc. Was that trippy or what?
It is true that in the past we have been less than enthusiastic fans of Western medicine, and this Unit 731-like experience well illustrates why.
Nevertheless I must in all good conscience report that this morning the phone rang at dawn and a *very* chirpy Joc ordered me to get my idle self out of bed and go and buy her some glossy magazines to read.
I am about to do so with the utmost pleasure.
Love, JH.
(Okay, I made up the skull and crossbones...)