Spent yesterday morning getting my first proper physical in a decade at a place in Central. They must do dozens of people every day – a three-hour long conveyor belt of form-filling, examinations and tests, plus some waiting in between.
First, you’re not allowed to eat or drink anything since the night before because they’ll be taking blood (a surprising amount of it). So they cover your chest with electrodes and make you stroll, then walk, then run uphill on a treadmill while you’re starving. Next thing, you need a full bladder ahead of an – extremely slimy – ultrasound exam.
There are two ways to check a man for signs of prostate cancer: a blood test or a doctor’s finger. Here you get both. Better safe than sorry.
Couldn’t help noticing that men are laid back about walking around carrying little plastic jars containing their stool and urine samples, while women coyly wrap the receptacles up in layers of tissues and paper bags.
Good luck getting an appointment with this doctor…
A little weekend reading: Steve Roach compares and contrasts the Chinese and Japanese economies.
I once got the doctor’s finger as part of a driving licence renewal check.
@asiaseen: Yeah but that was gratis and the doc had a nice big smile as you left since he didn’t actually use his fingers…
😘
My gynaecologist recently gave me two thumbs up.
I get a PSA test every year. Isn’t that enough?
They are good doctors. And thorough.
Actually some of them are not real doctors. But that’s okay with me.
Body Check
I’ve had a body check,
A clever, thorough test,
The heart, the lungs, the blood, and all the rest.
Of course they’re going to see
The secrets that I had:
The little things, the body going bad.
Perhaps a tumour grows
Where it cannot hide;
A doctor’s finger deftly goes inside.
But as I carry out
My urine in a jar
With other men, I think: how close we are.
And with the women too,
Their samples hidden in
Tissues, I think: my sisters, under the skin.
It is an ancient thought:
In poverty or fame,
We all go down together just the same.