Mr Grays Anatomy

“Its a femur.”

They're testing my patience. They have the book right in front of them, but for each bone they pick up I have to explain in detail what it is and where it goes.

“Metatarsal – it goes in the foot next to the other one.”

They're just fucking with me.

“Tibia. Tibia. Tibia. Its right there in the diagram.”

I'm usually the one standing up umming and aaahing with a clipboard in my hand but they're the ones standing over me now – looming and leering and pointing at the pictures. The leg bones are on the stainless steel table at the end of the bed, lined up neatly but not in biological order and they're trying to fit them together like jigsaw pieces.

Anatomy is my specialism and I'm finding this lack of basic knowledge very frustrating.

“For pete's sake – it goes with the fibula. Can you not get that through your thick skulls?”

They look at me – the ugly bastards – but I'm not sure they understand - they've never understood me – and I've been through the whole textbook with them.

“AAAAARRRGH!” I shout in frustration.

They let out an unearthly screech - EEEEEEEEEAAAAAAH - and the bones clatter onto the metal table.

“No please don't go – I didn't mean to offend you. ...”

I push myself off the hospital bed and my feet touch the linoleum, but my legs are jelly and I crumple to the floor.

“Please ...my bones ...put them back ...I need them to walk ...”