Dummy Spit

Dummy Spit

I had a bunch of people email me to ask what it means to chuck a tanty, or have a dummy spit.

It’s simple: It’s the same as ‘spitting a chewie’.

Or, as my mom would say, having a meltdown. Throwing a fit. What, you guys don’t speak Australian? Try this on for size:

After brekkie at the milk bar, I went walkabout and ended up in town at the shops, where a spruiker gave me the idea to play the pokies. In the arvo, I got a counter meal at the local and then hit the piss early - I ended up carrying on like porkchop. I didn’t want to be a bludger, or act like a yarbo, so I went back to my flat before I planted a tiger.

And these people think they speak English?

We were on ward rounds the other day, and I noticed that the surgeons kept asking their post-op patients the same question over-and-over: Have you had any wind? After I realized they were asking about bodily functions and not the weather report, I started to wonder why. I mean, I know hospitals have that funky smell, but I don’t think they were trying to pin anything on anyone. (And somehow, I don’t think a round of the Vent-Doorknob game is going to go over well. But I digress.) So I asked one of the surgeons, and the answer was to see if the patients are getting better. Turns out that a, uh, fluffy, is a sign of improving health.

Guess that makes my landlord’s pooch Cane the healthiest dog I know…

It’s the end of the seventh week of surgery, and I can say they finally did it. They finally made me squeamish. I have watched them cut people open, slice things out, held my hand in places I won’t mention (Mom reads these, ya know), seen people who were hit at 60mph by a 4wd, watched a doctor expand a, uh, opening with his fist, even that guy a few years ago with piercings, uh, *there*. None of it made my sick. What did it?

Eye surgery.

It’s been my week to do optho….ophtho….opto….Eye surgery. I attended emergency clinics, regular clinics, and a theatre session, learning all the finer points of looking deeply into someone’s eyes and seeing what was there.

Sounds romantic, doesn’t it?

Sadly, it was usually a blocked tear duct, or a weak eye muscle, or even a piece of rust. It was very interesting, but seeing them play with someone’s eye with scalpels and fix things with sutures, well that was enough for me to rethink a career as an optho….ophtho….opto….Eye surgeon. And this is coming from someone who jabbed contact lenses into his eyes for 15 years!

And with that, it’s the weekend. I plan on getting a bit of studying done (now *there* is a surprise…) as well as running some errands. I just hope it doesn’t rain while I’m running around – I don’t have a brolie to keep me dry…

As always, Love to All and keep working on your 101 List!
Bryan