Licence

Author: Dr Roger Gibson

Score: 1 / 5

A man goes to his GP complaining of excruciating pains in his joints and muscles.  

                                                                               “I don’t know what to do with myself, doc,” he says. “It’s not just that I can’t do hard manual work any more – when I’ve been earning a lot as a hod carrier these last twelve years. I can’t get to sleep properly, as I can never get into a comfortable position in bed.”

The GP examines him, but even after many scans and x-rays, he can neither make a diagnosis nor even find an effective pain-killer to ease the symptoms. Then the patient says his sister works in a racing stable at Newmarket. She swears by a powerful liniment that the vet there uses on horses when they go lame with no visible fracture or pulled tendon, etc. He tells the doctor he’s going to try that on his aching limbs. The doctor says it’s a bit irregular, but as long as he doesn’t take anything internally it might be worth a try.

A month later the patient re-appears in surgery to tell the doctor he’s getting a lot of relief from the liniment, and that he’s thinking of going back to work soon. The doctor is alarmed to see that the patient’s bone structure is altering some. His face is getting longer, and his ears, nose, and mouth are getting a bit horsey-looking.

When the patient comes back another month later to say how fit and strong he’s feeling now, his appearance is even more thoroughly equine

“You’ll be needing this,” the GP says, starting to write on a form. 

“Oh are you giving me a prescription for some of that liniment I’ve been getting from the stables at Newmarket, doc?”

“No,” says the doctor. “I’m writing you a license to shit in the street.”