Authors: Robbie Guillory
First published October 2013
49–53 Virginia Street
Glasgow, G1 1TS
Copyright © Robbie Guillory 2013
The moral right of Robbie Guillory to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any
information storage or retrieval system, without either prior permission in writing from the publisher or by licence, permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued
by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London W1P 0LP.
A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library
Printed and bound by Bell and Bain, Glasgow
We are sick. We are dirty, kinky and sexually dysfunctional. We commit stupid acts in the heat of the moment, play with tools we don’t know how to use, and generally hurt
ourselves – a lot. And when we aren’t suffering from some awful internet-trawled illness we are totally convinced that we are. Luckily for us, we have the National Health Service on
hand to pick up the pieces.
The NHS is a beautiful thing. A free healthcare system, visible proof that we live in a society that looks after its citizens. A health service where you can get treated for whatever you want
whenever you need it, day or night. Be it an eel up the arse, or an urgent case of blue legs, our highly-trained health professionals are on call.
This book is full of the very best stories gleaned from those at the frontline, a collection of the weirdest accidents and patients they have attended, the ones that keep them smiling through a
seventeen hour shift, or at least get them in to work the next day. A&E is a common spawning ground for these outlandish tales but the net was cast wider, to dentists, GPs, ambulance drivers,
midwives, call handlers, first responders and the like.
As one would expect, all stories are supplied anonymously – to protect the innocent as well as the guilty. I’m hugely grateful to all those NHS workers who gave me material, tales
that made me both laugh out loud and sometimes weep with despair... But, most of all, hearty thanks go to the Great British Public, whose imagination and inventiveness in finding methods to put
itself in harm’s way knows no bounds. For your perversion, stupidity and ignorance – I salute you.
An unconscious 30-year-old man was brought in to us by ambulance. His girlfriend had found him lying naked on the floor of his bathroom and called 999. Upon examination, he was
found to have a large lump on his forehead and, strangely, several scratches on his scrotum. The lump was obviously from a fall of some kind, but we couldn’t work out the cause of the
scratches until he’d woken up.
He said he had been cleaning his bathtub while naked, kneeling on the floor beside the tub. His cat, apparently transfixed by the rhythmic swaying of his scrotum, lunged forward, sinking its
claws into this deliciously pendulous target. The man wasn’t sure what had happened next, but clearly he’d jerked forward to protect his package and cracked his skull on the edge of the
A&E Consultant, Milton Keynes
A few years ago I was working nights at an inner-city A&E in Manchester. A man staggers in, clearly the worse for wear drink-wise, and tells the front desk that he
can’t get his contact lenses out. Apparently they would come halfway out but then always snap back in again, and were causing him agony. A nurse attempted to get them off with a suction pump
but to no avail, and the patient was getting more and more panicked, so they called me in to have a look. I checked both eyes, twice, but couldn’t find any sign of lenses. The man had been
trying to rip out his own corneas.
Doctor, Milton Keynes
I remember a case where a man reported to his GP complaining of severe constipation, and quite considerable pain. After some persuasion he revealed that he and his boyfriend
had been getting into some very risqué sex games, and recently they had had the idea of pouring plaster of Paris into his bottom using a funnel. This had hardened, unfortunately, and thus
the constipation and pain. The GP referred him to our hospital, and it was my privilege to remove what turned out to be a pretty perfect cast of his rectal passage, along with – somewhat
surprisingly – a squash ball.
A woman came into my A&E while I was on the front desk and the following conversation took place:
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I’ve got appendicitis!’
‘What makes you say it is appendicitis?’
‘Because I had it before, when I was twelve! I had to go to hospital and have an operation!’
‘You had your appendix taken out?’
‘And you think you’ve got appendicitis?’
Needless to say, it was a touch of the shits.
My colleague, a GP, recently told me about this patient he’d had. She came in to a drop-in appointment, refused to sit down in the waiting area, was sweating profusely
and highly agitated, so the receptionist decided to bump her up the list a bit. When she came in she still wouldn’t sit down and blurted out, ‘I’ve got a chilli in my
‘Umm, ok, is it stuck?’ my colleague asked.
‘No, I just want some advice please!’
‘Well, my advice would be that you take the chilli out of your vagina, and never put it back in again. Not only is it dangerous, they are far better used in a good curry.’
‘Would you like to talk about
you’ve got a chilli in your vagina?’
‘No thanks, you’ve been a lot of help already,’ she said, and was out the door before the GP could say another word.
A story was doing the rounds in my area recently about a teenager with ADHD who had been taking dexamphetamine with some friends (the drug was prescribed by his local community
Adolescent Psychiatry service to stop him setting fire to his homework, among other things...). His parents had brought him in when they found him in their attic in a very, shall we say, incoherent
state. Once he’d come off his high somewhat, the doctor wanted to ask him if he’s been doing anything that might put him at risk of contracting AIDS. The boy thought for a while and
then said, ‘...screwing the dog?’
A man had inserted an acupuncture needle in his penis. We found this out only after having X-rayed, following complaints of a severe pain in his stomach. It had reached his
bladder. When we showed him this X-ray, he admitted having put it there, ‘for fun’.
I have personally removed the following items of flotsam and jetsam from various rectums over the past forty years:
Several shapes of bottle
Sex toys galore
A snapped broomstick handle
The handle of an axe, with the axe head attached but not inserted
The bauble from the end of a curtain rod (became unscrewed, apparently)
A light bulb (unbroken, thankfully)
One fluorescent tube
A champagne glass (it had smashed)
A full jar of instant coffee
A prosthetic arm
A plethora of toothbrushes
Only one cucumber, oddly
A marble pestle (luckily no mortar)
A large rubber ‘Hulk’ fist (and again, two years later)
A can of Carnation condensed milk
A mobile phone, curiously not set to vibrate mode
I was once assisting a dentist as she was doing a filling. The patient was a bear of a man, with an imposing beard. Suddenly, as I was reaching for a packing pad, I noticed an
ant running across the tray where we kept the tools. Not wanting to cause undue alarm, I decided to ignore it, and swapped the tools for sterile ones. Once the patient left I asked the dentist if
he’d seen any ants, thinking we might have a pest problem, to which she replied, ‘It was the patient. His beard was seething with them, but I didn’t want to upset him by
mentioning it. They kept trying to climb up my gloves.’
Dental assistant, Newcastle