Doctor's appointment...

I can’t complain; I had a good run. But after two years of dodging the Doctor he eventually pulled rank and refused to reissue my medication if I didn’t go for a check. Just a blood pressure thing, I’ve had it for twenty years. Four tablets a day, six monthly checks - the last few times with the nurse rather than the Doc himself. So why all this fuss? After all, it's not like he really wants to see me.

He gave me fair warning; a couple of notes and a signed letter, but still I didn’t go. Well, I’d kind of got out of the habit, besides it’s all a bit of a faff this going to the Doctors business - and you never know what they are going to put you through.

I had to go today though; I’m nearly out of tablets. Not that I remember to take them every day, and when I do I don’t take always take them all. Yeah, I’m really bonkers, dancing with death the way I do.

Anyway off to the docs I toddled this morning for my early appointment. First thing I noticed was that the once quite comfortable waiting room was now laid out in military style. Gone were the coffee tables and magazines, the children’s play area; all replaced with rows of grey chairs back to back like something out of sixties Russia.

I waited to be attended to and when nobody came after five minutes I rang the bell. A voice to my left, which appeared to be coming out of a television set, asked me what I wanted. I told them I had an appointment and the voice told me to touch the screen. A question appeared: ‘Are you male of female?’ I touched the male icon. ‘What month were you born?’ I pressed Mar. ‘What day?’ I entered the correct numerals. ‘Dr MacDonut has been informed you are here’ appeared upon the screen.

I sat on one of the grey military chairs. They certainly weren’t made for comfort and glanced at the posters on the wall. ‘Forgetting where you parked your car is okay. But forgetting what colour it is could mean that you have a problem.’ Nothing to be worried about here then - my car was black… or was it graphite… grey maybe? A buzzer sounded, making me jump. Black, definitely black; glancing up I noticed that above my head a computerised running banner informed me that Dr. D would see me in room 2.

I knocked on the door and entered room 2. There was Dr. D, just the same, no military uniform or Stalin moustache, a couple of years older but looking just the same as the last time I saw him. Then straight in without niceties – yes, same old Dr. D.

“Why have you missed your last two year’s appointments?”

“I’ve been ill.” I replied.

“You’ve put on a lot of weight.”

“Well so would you if you ate loads of rich food and drank as much wine as I do.” I responded.

“What exercise are you doing?”

“I lift myself out of the bath almost daily and I write about sport quite a lot.” I replied.

A short lecture on health followed, then he launched into how the government were robbing him whilst taking thirty percent of his salary as pension contributions and how he found it very hard to pay the school fees.

He said that I should do some exercise, like swimming or swimming or maybe even swimming... He said that I should see the nurse about helping me to lose some weight. (I thought that seeing the nurse won’t stop me eating and drinking, and that’s what is needed if I wanted to lose weight - not that I do.)... He said that  I could go and that he'd see me again in three months as my blood pressure had gone up a little.

I smiled, thanked him for his valuable time and left closing the door quietly behind me - I didn't want him calling me back. Phew! That was a breeze - no urine sample, no blood test, and no need to cough. I wonder how long I can not see him before the next letter arrives?