Thursday 5th July 1990   Morning surgry 11.00

Max hobbled into the consulting room. He lowered himself cautiously onto the chair, took a deep breath and groaned.
Dr Lewis smiled sympathetically.
“I can’t walk more than ten yards, Doctor. It’s agony and I’m exhausted after. I have to lie down. I can’t carry a mug of coffee. Even changing channels on the television is too much for me. I can’t do anything around the house. Would you believe that I’ve actually tried to hoover? You  ask my mum. She’ll tell you I’ve tried my best. She won’t let me now. She can’t bear to watch. She says it’s cruel. My Dad doesn’t care. He made me wash the car last week. I still haven’t recovered properly. My right shoulder is still hurting and I think I’ve got tennis elbow and my eyes are funny: blurred with flashing lights so I need another sick note. That’s all I want.”

Another sick note.
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