The results are in

Friday 9th September   

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I had some tests done, because I was fearful about some disturbing symptoms of late. I was recalled to the medical centre for the results of the tests yesterday.  I really don’t like the medical centre, not that I in any way doubt the medical prowess of the doctors there; it is the impersonality of the whole place I dislike. It is spotlessly clean, I cannot fault them there, but it is so, well, modern I suppose; you even have to register via a computer terminal at the reception, there are staff there, and it would surely only take them a moment to politely confirm your appointment, but no – you have to “log in”, and go through several screens, simply to tick a box to say that you are here – well who else would be ticking the box but yourself.  Then you wait in rows of beech-wood chairs and stare at the interactive tv screen, which as well as showing some daytime chat show, (with the volume off – so it is even more inane than it undoubtedly must be) you daren’t let your attention wander, as along the bottom of the screen are constant messages; five a day, reduce your salt, and patients being called to see different doctors in different rooms. And I suppose this is the nub of my gripe with this wonderful modern system; you never know which doctor or which room you will be going to. Not that it make much difference, the rooms are completely interchangeable, as I suspect the doctors are too.

At last my name appears, and rushing so as not to be late, and have the name flashing in red letters so that everyone knows you are not paying attention, off you trot, trying desperately to remember which room you are supposed to be going to.

Well, the doctor was very nice, a young (Iranian I would guess, from her name) woman, who seemed very efficient and competent; well she certainly knew how to use her computer, and had my test results and medical history up on the screen in no time.  As I suspected, the tests showed nothing positive – no cancerous or pre-cancerous cells, but somehow this failed to reassure me.  My blood sugar was fine, though she pointed out that my cholesterol levels were slightly higher than she would have liked. Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t realise they were for your pleasure, popped into my mind, but of course I said nothing, and smiling politely, folded the diet sheet she had printed for me into my handbag

Leaving the surgery, two contrary thoughts occurred; one, that I had been stupid in even worrying and having the tests in the first place, and secondly – what if they are wrong.  Why is it, that even when things are going remarkably well in our lives, we have to find something to worry about?