Mikey Ryan Is Down With Flu Like Symptoms

My best mate Mikey Ryan failed to turn up in the Arch Bar last Wednesday night, which I found, to say the least, rather unusual. Come to think of it, I hadn’t spotted him all week, so I decided to called over to the house, to discover he was recovering from flu like symptoms.

Despite looking a bit peaky, he informed me that being confined by his doctor to get bed rest, has been a happy and a most rewarding experience.

“How so?”, said I.

“Well”, said Mikey bursting with pride, “I’ve found out how much my wife truly loves me – she’s been thoroughly pleased just to have me confined once again within the bosom of our family.”

“How do you conclude that?” said I

“Well”, said Mikey “Every time our postman; milkman; coal man or dustman come anywhere near our house, she’s running outside shouting “My husband is home! My husband is home!”

“Begod”, said I, “Maybe Mikey you should be really down in Limerick hospital, with that congested chest of yours?”

“Limerick Hospital!”, Mikey raised his voice, “Limerick Hospital me arse; sure there is serious overcrowding down in that place, which has led to calls from them lodgers in the Health Service Executive (HSE) for people to consider all other options, before attending their emergency department. Sure, there was 72 patients waiting for to find a bed down there this afternoon, making it by far the most overcrowded medical facility in the feckin country, and to make things even worse the present minority government and those who voted for them, couldn’t give a feck. Look truly, not enough people in North Tipperary are getting sick, that’s the bloody problem”, Mikey continued.

“By the way”, said Mikey “Mrs Browne, at No. 27, was telling my wife that her husband Paddy is due to undergo some serious medical tests shortly.”

“And what kind of test are being planned for poor Paddy”, I enquired sympathetically.

“Well it is a bit confusing really”, stated Mikey, “But according to Mrs Browne her phone rang yesterday asking to speak to herself. “Hello, may I speak with Mrs Browne, please”, a voice on the other end was heard to say.

“Speaking”, says Mrs Browne.

“Mrs Browne”, said the caller, “This is a consultant here at University Hospital Limerick (UHL). You might recall that your husband Paddy was referred to us here for some blood tests last week?”

“Yes”, replied Mrs Browne, in anticipation of results.

“Well”, said the caller, “I regret to inform you that when the laboratory attendant received Mr Browne’s blood sample, a further blood sample arrived from another Mr Browne, and we are now uncertain as to which sample was actually your husband’s. Either way it is my unpleasant duty to inform you that both results are not very promising in the long term.”

“What do you mean?”,  Mrs Browne queried, her voice shaking.

“Well, one of these tests proved positive for Alzheimer’s, and the other test was positive for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS), said the caller, “And I regret to bring you the news that we can’t tell which disease is actually applicable to your husband.”

“That’s dreadful!”, exclaimed Mrs Browne. “But can’t you do the test again?”

“Normally we could, but the Health Service Executive (HSE) and the Minister at the Department of Health, due to cutbacks and overcrowding, are only prepared to pay the costs for one of these extremely expensive blood tests.”

“And what are you suggesting that I should do now?”, requested an angry Mrs Browne.

“My medical colleagues and I at UHL”, continued the caller, “Would suggest that the best scenario would be to drop your husband off somewhere in the middle of the hills above the Upperchurch or the Kilcommon area of Co. Tipperary and if he manages to find his way home unassisted, we suggest you don’t sleep with him in the same bed for the foreseeable future.”


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