Medical Appointments
As some of you know, my AS condition demands that I go for a medical check-up every three months or so. What basically happens during these appointments is that I go to the hospital and wait twenty minutes so that my doctor can stand behind me, ask me to bend over and exclaim “Yes, yes. That’s very good.” Other than being a waste of time, this is also mildly damaging to my psychological health, what with me not being the type to bend over in the presence of male company. Actually, make that any company.
And then there’s the blood test or Procedure 12 as they like to call it. This actually happens before I go in to see my doctor but, hey, it’s always nice to start with a slightly gay-ish story, isn’t it? So anyway, despite the LED display, my number is shrieked out and I trot in to have my arm punctured while some middle-aged woman looks at my blood test forms, tells me what my own name is and then proceeds to expound on how many monikers start with the letter “J”.
“Joshua, Jimmy, Joseph, Jasper…” she rattles away as the first Vacutainer starts to fill. “Jean, Jackson, Janice…” and she seamlessly slots the second one in. “Jacob, Justin, Jacqueline, Jasmine, hmmm… Ok. Press and hold.” and she covers the wound with cotton wool.
It seems apt to point out here that I like watching my blood splutter into the vial. It’s fulfilling in the way that popping zits is fulfilling. Don’t ask me why. Do note, however, that this is different from the way one of my exes claims that she enjoys injections. That is just plain madness from someone who used to cut herself for fun.
And so, with the blood taken and the inspection done, it’s time to pay and there’s this one particular nurse whom I can’t stand. Not only does she refuse to smile, she insists on addressing me as “the patient” while constantly staring at her blasted monitor. “Would the patient like to pay by NETS?” “Would the patient like to have a morning appointment?” “Would the patient like to tell me to sod off?” YES, THE PATIENT WOULD LIKE TO TELL YOU TO SOD OFF!
And that’s about it really. Every thirteen weeks, I get put through this treatment so the next time any of you see me stumbling about all pale-faced and irritable, I suggest you be a pal and buy me some tea.
And then there’s the blood test or Procedure 12 as they like to call it. This actually happens before I go in to see my doctor but, hey, it’s always nice to start with a slightly gay-ish story, isn’t it? So anyway, despite the LED display, my number is shrieked out and I trot in to have my arm punctured while some middle-aged woman looks at my blood test forms, tells me what my own name is and then proceeds to expound on how many monikers start with the letter “J”.
“Joshua, Jimmy, Joseph, Jasper…” she rattles away as the first Vacutainer starts to fill. “Jean, Jackson, Janice…” and she seamlessly slots the second one in. “Jacob, Justin, Jacqueline, Jasmine, hmmm… Ok. Press and hold.” and she covers the wound with cotton wool.
It seems apt to point out here that I like watching my blood splutter into the vial. It’s fulfilling in the way that popping zits is fulfilling. Don’t ask me why. Do note, however, that this is different from the way one of my exes claims that she enjoys injections. That is just plain madness from someone who used to cut herself for fun.
And so, with the blood taken and the inspection done, it’s time to pay and there’s this one particular nurse whom I can’t stand. Not only does she refuse to smile, she insists on addressing me as “the patient” while constantly staring at her blasted monitor. “Would the patient like to pay by NETS?” “Would the patient like to have a morning appointment?” “Would the patient like to tell me to sod off?” YES, THE PATIENT WOULD LIKE TO TELL YOU TO SOD OFF!
And that’s about it really. Every thirteen weeks, I get put through this treatment so the next time any of you see me stumbling about all pale-faced and irritable, I suggest you be a pal and buy me some tea.
8 Comments:
You know, you make a rather good gay-smut author, I was enjoying the first paragraph but you had to stop!
Awww, poor boy. If I had known, I would have bought you some ice-milo.
Ahem... The genre is literary fiction. NOT gay smut.
And in your case, I think the free beverage you offer me should at least contain a smattering of alcohol.
Smut IS fiction. I wouldn't consider it literary, because they usually get straight to the point. No pun intended.
Don't be greedy! You've already had red wine yesterday (bleah, that took me 30 minutes to finish my glass. I mean plastic.) and more alcoholic indulgence to come later.
But smut IS literary. Just look at treasures like "The Sergeant and Me" or "Three Men and a Lady" (this is different from the movie).
These classics are so stirring that grown men have been known to request that they be allowed to sit down just a little longer to "recuperate" from the exertions of certain key chapters.
And yeah, the red wine last night sucked.
You seem to know quite a fair bit on literary smut. Would you happen to be one of those 'grown men' you were writing about? The Sergeant & Me sounds like the kind of movie only a 21 year-old can watch though.
Wait a minute, you can still reply at this time? I thought you (and the other guys!) would have been happy and high by now.
I can assure you that everything I have described, I know only from anecdotal evidence. I have not myself asked to be given five more minutes to "calm down".
Man, this is doing wonders for my reputation.
I'm sorry to dash your hopes, but I have a question to ask.
What reputation?
Right, yes. I don't think this is an argument I can win. Darn.
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