Light

"Everything has been thought of before. But the problem is to think of it again." Johann Von Goethe.

Writing internet columns exposing the stupidity verging on corruption of the New Zealand government, has put me on the politician's hate list. Like most so called civilised countries, those who excel in political incorrectness are treated with contempt and ignored. We are regarded as rebels or mind terrorists and anything that can be done to shut us up, regardless of the legality, is sneaked in the back door without fanfares. The mainstream media resides in political pockets, so the only real outlet available is the uncontrolled internet. No doubt the official mind set brigade are working to restrict this international freedom of information emporium to their own advantage.

While I find it depressing that NZ is more socialistic than Communist Russia ever was, I would be failing in my patriotic duty if I ignored the good things that occur when officialdom is treated with contempt. The following is true and to a certain extent has restored my faith in human nature.

A couple of Thursdays ago I was attacked by a woman without logical reason. I was rather drunk and decided that if I were to defend myself, I would be seen as the villain and charged with assault. The police always go for the easiest target. So I backed away as fast as possible. She swung a punch and her ring damaged the lower tear duct in my right eye. I slipped backwards and seriously sprained my left ankle and bruised my backside. Come Saturday morning I was in Wellington Hospital's Eye Department. My foot hurt and I was unable to walk, although my eye seemed OK.

The trainee eye expert poked and probed and decided I needed an operation. As a young lady I know had been waiting for years for corrective surgery on both eyes, my heart sank at the thought of the well-publicised 500 year waiting list for minor surgery. I asked how long it would take and was told I was booked in for five PM the same day. Oh my God! What had I done right? I was one of the most hated men in Godzone and the system was bending over backwards to accommodate a slightly damaged eye. Will wonders will ever cease?

I rested on a bed in a ward full of ailing overweight women and awaited my execution. A free lunch of steamed chicken something and a cup of tea. At five PM the specialist eye surgeon arrived. The operation was to be performed in an empty building several hundred yards away. Being Saturday, the hospital was largely closed and Wellington's foremost eye surgeon pushed me in a wheelchair up a steep hill because professional wheelchair pushers didn't work weekends to save wages.

No nurses or endless paper shufflers were working and I was left to the mercy of the trainee expert and the surgeon. The bed was narrow, very hard and I asked for a cushion to prop up my aching foot. Sadly, the local anaesthetic in the corner of my eye did nothing for my foot. Then the slaughter began. Snip, poke, prod and tuck this under that etc.

It was election day and the three of us never got the chance to vote but unanimously agreed that the Labour Coalition was destroying NZ with its arrogant left wing policies.

"Shit!" The surgeon muttered. "I've stuffed up. I think the plastic pipe is too long."

"What do you want, a vote of confidence? Why don't you use a copper pipe, it won't rust when my eye waters?" I suggested cynically.

During a cigarette break I called the wife on my cellphone and gave her a blow by blow description of the eye boggling events. The trainee expert and the surgeon muttered away about how things should be done if they had the full facilities and nurses on tap.

"I've got a pocket knife. Would that help?" I was only trying to be helpful.

Seven stitches later I was told it was the best they could do under the circumstances and my eye was filled with sticky goo to kill invading bugs and other creatures of mass destruction. All I could see was a transparent plastic pipe in the corner of my eye. We didn't bother with an eye pad as I was now an expert and knew I wouldn't be able to keep my balance with only one eye and might fall over and damage the other leg.

The surgeon wheeled me back to the ward of women waiting for salvation. Another free meal of steamed something unrecognisable and I waited for the wife to arrive and drive me home. A little eye blocking sticky goo three times a day and two weeks later my foot was still hurting. The total cost of my medical education? Absolutely nothing.

The moral is simple. Without bureaucratic interference and time wasting procedures,
mankind will always do his best for his fellows.