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My View - Wednesday May 24 2017

Is there anything more undignified than having to provide a urine sample? It's not just the aim that's tricky, or spillage issues, but the walk of shame through the waiting room as you try to hide your hot pot behind your handbag. 

My husband had kindly booked me in for a medical MoT, believing that now I'm nearly forty five, I'd better get serviced. It was a two hour, two person job. First with a nice young chap in charge of heart, bloods and wee, then a woman for bosoms and speculums. 

All was going well until Doctor Number One couldn't locate a vein and had to call for a narrower needle. They should have a handy wall chart with a sliding scale from A-Z to help them, A being "unlikely to find an artery" and Z "pass the apple corer". But we got there after much pumping and dizziness. 

My hamstrings are tight apparently, but I wouldn't know as I'm unsure where they are. He divulged this information after watching me perform various press-ups and balancing acts with a bar. Then I got hooked up and plastered down to some bleeping machines and felt most relieved to be told I was neither dead nor in cardiac arrest.  

Next, I was released into a holding area, where tangerines and House Beautiful were on offer. I learned that "denim drift" was this season's most calming shade for bathrooms and that a rattan pouffe can really liven up a disused corner. I was tempted to write my findings in the surgery guest book – because let's face it, what on earth do you put when you've just had an ECG and are girding your loins for a smear? One woman had actually written "thorough service", followed by a smiley. Lol. 

But no sooner had I swallowed my first segment of satsuma when Doctor Number Two glided over all serene, like an internal was the furthest thing from her mind. By the time she'd finished with me I wholeheartedly agreed with smiley's comments. She saw more of my body than my husband has since the birth of our children. And even then he wasn't down at the business end. 

She did a lovely line in diversionary conversation though, which I was grateful for during the booby bits. I wondered if she had a list of back-up topics: how to remove an egg stain, the benefits of catalytic conversion, a good recipe for stroganoff.  

We topped off the afternoon with a chat about my mental health and, all-told, I'm managing to cling on to my sanity quite well. If it was on a sliding scale of A-Z, I reckon I'd be an OK. Though the man who suggested the MoT believes I'm in the middle of an MLC (midlife crisis). 
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