Bitch on the Blog

October 9, 2011


Filed under: Communication — bitchontheblog @ 03:20

Sweethearts, I am so happy to finally work into my writing:

The boil is lanced. I always wanted to say that. Now, legitimately and truthfully, I can.

“The boil is lanced.” I myself have never had a boil. But I know a woman who did. In an impossible place of her body. Don’t look now. To the mind of a young child (that’s me) it was, like most of the adult world, mysterious. It involved a home visit from a doctor, plenty of hot water and then I was taken outside so I was spared the scream (when the boil was lanced). That’s the trouble – and a lot of adults don’t understand it: Keep something from a child and it’ll grow into a giant or a gigantic memory or a nightmare. Yes, the whispers. Adults whisper. And think children don’t hear. But children’s hearing is still fresh and unadultered. And even if they can’t make sense of the heard they will sure remember.

Where were we? Boils. Thank you to all my stalwart friends who are mature beyond their years (that’s – by way of example – BHB, Magpie, not least Phil who will not spare himself, my son and everyone else ever so patient trying to release bees in my bonnet and giving my heated temperament the wide berth it needs to burn itself out). The one I still need to work on is Jean aka Cheerful Monk. Her vision is not myopic but rosily bent nevertheless. A type of American astigmatism  (insert smiley to soften blow).

Yes, so that is the end of that saga. Big sigh of relief. Strange how one can suddenly turn a corner. Since we are giving out Oscars a big thank you to my computer who kept crashing for the last 24 hours thus preventing me from my usual giving hasty answers and long explanations to those who commented yesterday. Thank you all. Kick ass is what sometimes sends pus the only way to go. Away.

Hugs and kisses


Drawing a line ————————————————————————————-.



  1. Now I am pondering the fact that God allowed Job’s children to die before Job was afflicted with boils so that they did not get to see him scratching them open with broken pieces of pottery. There must be a theological insight there that has been overlooked.

    Comment by Looney — October 9, 2011 @ 04:49 | Reply

    • Hope you got your facts right, Looney.

      Remember: God is almighty, and will get away with murder.Better kill the kids before traumatized by their father’s disfigurement. Did Job die of septicaemia?

      Which reminds me: Who made money out of Lot’s wife after her curiosity turned her into a sizeable column of salt?


      Comment by Ursula — October 9, 2011 @ 13:07 | Reply

  2. In the Broadlands of the glorious County of Norfolk there was a word for a boil: a “push”
    Miss Jones was reading the school register and came to Mary’s name:
    “Mary?” (No reply)….where’s Mary”
    “Please Miss. She ha got a push.”
    ” She was pushed? Who pushed her?”
    “Miss, no one hint pushed har.”
    “No one? I don’t believe you.(pause) You naughty girl, I do believe you pushed her.”

    In this case perhaps that old remedy, a bread and milk poultice has been applied.

    As Grannie used to say;
    Here comes nurse with the red hot poultice.
    Slaps it on and takes no notice.
    “Owe!” says the patient , “That’s too hot.”
    “No,” says the nurse,
    “I’m sure it’s not.”

    Either way I all hope all the infection in Mary’s push has been eliminated,

    Comment by magpie11 — October 9, 2011 @ 12:31 | Reply

    • Yes, poultice was the word I was looking for. Sounds disgusting and comforting at the same time.

      However, the push, and this is more disturbing though possibly not as painful as a boil, reminds me of haemorrhoids (where do I find words that are such a spelling disaster?). I hasten to add, to keep the little dignity I have retained in tact, that I know haemorrhoids only from hearsay, not personally. You’ve got to admire doctors. They deal with all that’s best avoided. No wonder their suicide rate (and alcohol consumption to dull the pain) is rather high compared to many other professions.

      I am given to use up my precious time at the doc’s, dentist’s and other places of torture to ask them how they feel. How they cope eight hours a day with a never ending stream of human suffering. It’s tragic. There will be tears when you ask those who by nature of their work will ask YOU: And how are WE today? Few see the irony when you return the question. Till my time is up.

      Thanks for the Mary tale, David. Over time you most certainly helped “to push”, in your unobtrusive way.


      Comment by Ursula — October 9, 2011 @ 13:26 | Reply

  3. I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever clicked on the “like” button for an article that is essentially about lancing a boil. I don’t know what it all means, although it makes me smile nonetheless. Strange world.

    Comment by Phil — October 9, 2011 @ 13:56 | Reply

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