Obsessive-compulsive-scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs-she’s-so-deaf-hypercondriac

At night PantyHead likes to have some midnight snacking at hand. She requires the following items perched on a tray next to her bed:
• 2 bowls
• 2 spoons
• 1 portion shredded wheat in a clear plastic bag sealed with red clip
• 1 portion weetabix in clear plastic sealed with yellow clip
• 2 glasses tap water
• 1 plastic jug of tap water

Placed on the carpet under the side table she requires:
• 2 flasks of tap water
• 2 flasks sweetened skimmed milk
• 1 larger flask sweetened semi-skimmed milk

The flasks must be lined up with regimental symmetry. The milk must be sweetened using 12 tablets of sweetener per flask. This must be dissolved, as per her instructions, by mixing the 12 sweeteners with one eggcup of boiling hot water. The sweetener must be dissolved in the eggcup at approximately midday so as to allow the water plenty of time to cool before adding it to the milk in the evening. In the morning PantyHead will have used one flask of milk and a thimble-full of shredded wheat.

Of course I knew she was ‘knitting with one needle’ the minute I spied the 3 bananas symmetrical placed side-by-side on the floor next to the front door (as this is according to her rationale the freshest place to store them). What with her weird food-isms and milk left out in her boiling hot bedroom all night I’m not surprised that PantyHead gets stomach aches, although she attributes them to the Stomach Cancer.

Yesterday the pain was 'bad' and I was urged to ring the Doctor:

PantyHead: Now, Emma [blatant refusal to learn my real name] you must call the Doctor, tell him when he arrives that I will not be able to talk to him as this moves the pain out of my stomach and then he won’t be able to feel it and I want him to feel it.

And so her (Private i.e. very well paid) Doctor arrived:

Doctor: How are you?

PantyHead: Umm, urgh, ah. [Long pause] Mmm. [Pause] Mmm. [Eventually pressure is too much, talk bursts out, like small child trying to keep a secret] Oh, Doctor I’m going to have to talk to you. I didn’t want to because when I talk my blood pressure drops so low and the pain moves out of my stomach.

Doctor: Ahuh [sympathetic head nod].

PantyHead: Yes, because my blood pressure gets so low. Do you know the pressure is high in this arm [lifts up right arm] and low in this one [feeble flick with left arm]?

Doctor: I see. [Head nod, eyes slightly glazed, think he is mentally arithmetising value of this visit]

At this point I left them to it, but wandered past again to hear this snippet of conversation:

PantyHead: Feel my stomach can you feel the pain? I think it’s the cancer.

Doctor: I felt your stomach last time I was here and do you remember when I stuck my finger up your bottom…

I stopped eavesdropping at this point. I don't care how much the good Doctor is being paid at least I don’t have to stick my finger up her anus.