I’m glad to announce that the doctor gave me a clean bill of health today. Of course, I had to have an extra blood test, at extra cost, just to be sure that I didn’t have Hepatitis C. I don’t know why they don’t just invent diseases to test me for – no Mr Brown, we can’t sign off your medical yet, we need to test you for Gulliblesnotinthedictionaryitis.
This is, however, much better than the medical I had before coming out to New Zealand. On that occasion all my liver function numbers were so far out of range I had to stop drinking for ten days before getting tested again. Strangely, at a Christmas party, no one noticed that I was stone cold sober – I was as larey and belligerent as everyone else apparently. I will wear these facts as a badge of honour til my final breath. Yes, I am sad.
This time around I may have brought it on myself though: Part of the medical involves stripping down to your pants (the “under” variety) and lying down while the doctor twists your limbs about and hits you with a hammer. No wonder you have to pay. I forgot about the details of this part, otherwise I’d have worn tight fitting boxers, not the loose ones I had on. I know doctors have seen it all before, but they must get bored of those glimpses beyond the call of duty when they hoick your legs in the air.