LIFE BY LOUIS: The intrigues behind a visit to the doctor

I usually dedicate September to my annual medical check-ups. Don’t ask me why this specific month because I don’t know the answer.

I duly presented myself in Upperhill where all doctors conspired to locate their services for reasons best known to themselves.

FAILED EYE TESTS

I failed the eye test miserably because they forced me to read microscopic writings from a distance of 200 metres. I told the optician that I don’t see the need to strain myself reading letters from a mile while I can comfortably walk there and read from a close range.

They showed me some reading glasses to choose from, and all of them seemed to cover my face and neck and I felt like I was wearing a big bicycle tyre on each eye.

I quickly moved away from that section with the promise to eat more carrots to improve my optical score.

A few more height and weight measurements confirmed, for the fifth year in a row, that my BMI is above average. I vehemently protested that there was no way I could be getting fat in these hard economic times.

The doctor’s favourite topic is the cholesterol level where he knows my chances of passing are very slim.

He told me a few things about body water and fat, and then he did the unthinkable – he told me to avoid bread.

All my life inspirations from when I was a kid revolved around working in a bread factory. How do I avoid office bread when it is there all soft and buttered and most importantly,  free? My soul is not that strong. I pretended to listen, but deep in my heart I know that I am not giving up my favourite bread any time soon.

DREADED BLOOD TEST

The next station is where they 'decant' your blood into a big syringe and take it to a secret laboratory for further testing.

You sit through and swallow hard as the technician keeps tapping your forearm to look for more productive veins. They later use only 2ml out of all the blood they have drained from you to just tell you that your blood type is A+, just like it was the previous year.

STOOL SAMPLE

Finally there is the walk of shame where you are given an assembly of containers to harness your solid and liquid waste for further analysis.

You walk out holding the two containers in both hands while colliding awkwardly with several people as you scatter towards the toilets.

The toilets, of all times in this world, are occupied, so you stand out there for 30 minutes holding your containers.

Again this is the only time that your old friend will show up and attempt to strike a lengthy conversation with you, much to your discomfort.

PREPARING FOR THE HARVEST

Finally, you get inside and prepare to harvest the two samples. Nature once again conspires against you. The knocking on the toilet door is incessant, therefore you keep on flushing the toilet in order to announce your presence and ward off detractors.

You finally manage a respectable harvest and take the walk of shame one last time back to the test station.

Again because this world is full of evil conspiracies, all your friends happen to be walking along the corridor at this particular time and they are all in the mood for small talk.

The results of the stool harvest and blood erosion will be out in a day or two. You will walk in to the doctor’s office as he carefully reads your report and twists a plastic pen donated by drugs suppliers round his smooth fingers.

He will talk about several parameters where he shall alternate between you being within limit and being off limit, plus a few where he also quickly skips because he doesn’t want to shock you into an early death.

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