Dear Eileen: I Have a Sharp Kettle Chip Lodged in my Trachea, What Action Should I Take to Rid My Internal Plumbing of This Unwelcome Guest?

My name is (fmr) Sister Eileen Kirkup. I am 76 years old and I am a lapsed nun. I enjoy shrimping and baking.

This week's question comes from Alison in Peterborough. Alison Asks, "Dear Eileen, I have a sharp kettle chip lodged in my trachea, what action should I undertake to rid my internal plumbing of this unwelcome guest?"

My Child,

Before I give you advice pertaining to your urgent and very frightening medical emergency, I feel it's my duty to first of all provide a little backstory to my life and my understanding of the medical profession. Whilst training to be a nun at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, a frightful incident occurred to the young boys training in the firing range. Many of the poor souls were injured and we sisters were tasked with stitching up their wounds and bringing them porridge, Rustler magazines and PG Tips. 

It was while caring for a lovely young chap named Edward, who'd been shot thrice in his abdomen, that I had an epiphany: I am destined to be a nurse!

Now, at that point, I was already deep into my nun training. I was sharing this 3-bedroom flat with Sisters Yvonne and Clara, still close, close friends of mine, and life was pretty much sorted out for me. We'd be nurses for 70 years, before retiring in our late 90s. We'd then proceed to travel the World spreading the word of God in deprived, poverty-stricken areas, telling them to avoid condoms etc. We had it all planned out, good heavens, how romantic and bursting with life the young mind is! Such big ambitions, it seemed so simple, my child, but, as the saying goes, 'try telling God your plans and he laughs'. 

But the responsibility of nursing, the nuances of the role, the sense of importance and the sense of duty, it quickly became addictive. This was how I wanted to help others. It was, quite simply, the coolest thing i'd ever experienced. And I wanted to be the best nurse that I could be. This was my duty now, not nunning. 

Of course, my child, the elder sisters would not have it. I spent 3 months in 'pandemonium', which, to explain it basically, was a giant, wooden, spherical machine which functioned like a washing machine. One was placed in it, along with piles of dirty nun clothing and the odd scorpion, and two sisters would manually push the unfortunate sinner around until ye can bear no more, no more, no more, please sisters! No more! I beg of you! &^&$%*!!

Sorry about that, my child, this particular article is bringing back vicious memories. In truth, I was one of the lucky ones. Many young women I knew suffered such unbearable darkness, such malign, wretched sorrow. It was a rotten experience, but one which takes up a large part of the needlework in the tapestry of my life. One cannot just burn that portion of the tapestry, even if one, on occasion, stands beside said tapestry holding a candle, tempting oneself to let the candle inch dangerously close to the material, which gives one a palpable sense of excitement which perplexes one. One cannot just 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' away portions of their lives, no matter how convenient and comforting such an act would be. I love that film, my child, Kate Winslet's character is my 'spirit animal' as you youngsters would say. 

I became a Nun, my child. And I was good at it. I was honest, true to my fellow sisters, to my fellow man and, of course, to God. But several crises, which I shall have to go into in a later column, forced my exit from that life. I did eventually become a nurse though, my child, when I was living in Mexico in the 90s. Not for a public hospital, but rather for another organised group of individuals who often got tangled up in all sorts of violence, and needed their own medics. I was only too happy to help, though, as you can imagine, my child, one is not allowed to divulge much. 

So, my child, you can trust me when it comes to medical expertise, you needn't worry about that. You've come to the right person, and I would very much like to assist you in your hour of need! So, let me see.. kettle chip lodged in your trachea.. oh my! Well, my child, It looks like i've been terribly foolish. I've been waffling on about my medical experience whilst you've been choking and spluttering about, gasping for air!

Well, my child, I must apologise for my incessant proselytizing, it may have proved fatal for you. Still, my child, at least the kettle chip is no longer a problem!

Yours Truly,

Eileen