Doctor Who: Big Finish - Short Trips [026] - How the Doctor Changed my Life by Simon Guerrier

Author:Simon Guerrier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
Publisher: Big Finish
Published: 2008-09-16T15:36:41+00:00

Taking the Cure

Matthew James

An adventure of the Sixth Doctor,

with Peri

I never wanted to be an alien, I’m happiest sitting at home watching the long-legged ladies on Strictly Come Dancing or in the pub drinking a pint with a few mates. And you can skip karaoke too, I like to blend into the background. But none of that’s open to me any more, is it? And it’s all the fault of the overworked NHS.

It began with the sniffles. Big Ella leant over from behind my VDU and told me to sort it out sharpish, I don’t come into work to breathe your germs,’ she spluttered, and went off for her fag break.

I soldiered on anyway, ignored her glaring at me all afternoon. I don’t know why but whenever anyone tells me I have to do something, I always seem to do the opposite.

By next morning my eyes were streaming, my nose discharging like a Basil Fawlty fire extinguisher and my limbs getting longer by the hour.

Yeah, I thought that bit was a bit strange. I expected them to tell me I was being melodramatic, that this was nothing more than ordinary man flu, but I bit the bullet and went to see the quack. The hospital’s outside town and I spent a miserable hour on a couple of buses. I comforted myself with the knowledge that even if I had passed my last driving test I couldn’t have driven myself in this state. That’s one in the eye for all those people who told me I would be glad of my own car in an emergency. The other passengers did their best to ignore me as I coughed and growled and gargled. There’s that terrible thing with colds where you feel all sweaty and itchy inside your clothes, and you think you must look like a monster. You never look as bad as you feel, though. Only this time I think I must have.

I stumbled off the bus and made my way through the hospital car park.

The rain spattered down and people generally got out of my way. But as I made my way up the shallow slope to the automatic doors of reception, this pretty girl barred my way.

‘Hi,’ she said, with an accent from across the pond. ‘Look, sorry, it’s really busy in there. You’re best coming with me. We’ll get you seen to straightaway.’

I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and as she led me round the side of the hospital, I struggled to find something witty to say. ‘You’re from America? Which part?’

‘All of me,’ she grinned mischeviously. ‘And America is the tip of the iceberg compared to where I’ve been. Come on. Try a phone call.’

I’ve heard of NHS Direct, so guessed the blue box outside the surgery must be some sort of back-up. I must have been looking really unwell, because the girl appeared anxious to get me out of sight and pushed me rather roughly through the door.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. The Doctor will see you now.

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