Doctor Doctor

My Dear Fellows & Dear Princess,

Lest it needed confirming, here is a picture of the rubbish magazines available in a Kiwi doctor's waiting room. Just as awful as in every waiting room all over the world, I suspect. 

The poor sick people. As if it isn't bad enough that you've got a boil on the bum, your only distraction is an 18-month-old copy of "Trout Fisherman"

I am not a sick person. But I decided to go to the doctor because you-never-know and what-the-heck. I decided to pay them $250 for a thorough check-up.

I told Er Indoors, and she raised her middle finger and made a gesture with it.

You know. That's the sort of BASE humour I just don't care for. And definitely NOT the sort of thing you typically find in my Blip. Just ignore her, people. For goodness sake.

And anyway, as it turns out, I didn't get the finger up the bum. Which I was sort of disappointed about as well as hugely relieved. One the one hand, if I pay 250 effing dollars, I EXPECT a rubber glove and a bend-over-please. But on the other hand - 

-  Actually, no can we stick with just the one hand please? This isn't a Robert Mapplethorpe photo session and I'm not that stretchy.

So anyway, the doctor told me that, once I am 50, I should start getting a finger up the bum once a year. But I am not 50 yet. 

My bum breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully not audible. 

Actually the whole process was not particularly invasive. However I did learn that I have high blood pressure. This makes sense to me because I don't exercise at all and love salt so much that I am considering buying a lick. I also have higher cholesterol than I should. The doctor gave me some fairly simple things to do to combat both symptoms, and we're to check in again in three months time.

It wasn't so bad. Apart from the doctor herself, who was a nervy, bird-like woman who seemed far more anxious about everything than I was. Eventually it conveyed itself to me. As she stammered and stuttered and talked too fast, my paranoid mind started to wonder if the news was WORSE than she was letting on.

"No, she was the same when I went to see her too," said Er Indoors later. "Who wants a nervy effing doctor? She should prescribe herself some bloody thing to calm down."

Er Indoors makes a good point. If I were a doctor I would be totally high and mellow all the time. Patients would love me. Even when my finger was somewhere fingers typically fear to tread. I'd probably just leave it up there and forget about it as we chatted about the weather.

IT's gain was definitely the medical profession's loss. Oh my yes.

S.