A 12 Part Adoption Success Story
Part 4: First Ever Medical
As a part of the marathon-like journey towards adopting children, we both had to get full medicals from our doctors today. Having never had a medical in my life before, I will admit to a certain amount of trepidation before walking to the health center this afternoon. Here’s what I learned while being prodded, poked, measured, weighed and so on…
I weigh 90 kilograms.
I stand 190cm tall.
My tonsils work perfectly.
The iris in each eye works perfectly.
Apparently I consume about 20 units of alcohol a week on average (which is fine).
My back is straight.
My pulse is 70 beats a minute.
My blood pressure is absolutely normal (I forget the numbers).
My bloog suger level is abolutely normal.
I have no traces of sugar or blood in my urine (this is good apparently).
Both of my knees respond to being hit by a rubber hammer in an entirely predictable manner.
Both elbows respond in a similarly “normal” manner to being hit with said rubber hammer.
I have no discernable lumps or bumps in my abdomen (as prodded by the doctor).
I have no lumps in my armpits or in my neck (apparently this is good).
I don’t actually recall any more of the tests performed, but there were many, many more. In some ways I was a little dissappointed when he looked up while ticking an entire page of tickboxes, and said I was obviously a fit young lad, and had no discernable problems at all. I asked if doing medical examinations was the most boring job in the universe, and got as close as you might from a doctor to a “you have no idea…”. We then had quite an entertaining chat about the dream that one day somebody will arrive for a medical and have all manner of complex problems – the like of which medical science has never seen… but no – that never happens.
Apparently people who are going for a medical never have anything wrong with them.
The medical cost over 80 pounds (160 dollars). Ouch.
Perhaps the hilight of the day was the died blonde hair, frost reception lady who spoke down her nose at me in a very “royal” manner when I went to pay afterwards. Is there some kind of rule for working as the receptionist at the doctors – that you must be supremely neat, tidy, clean, bossy, and nosey?
About the Author
Jonathan lives in leafy Buckinghamshire, England with his infinitely better half, children, cats and chickens in a big old house that they fight with continually. They lurch from day to day in a state closely resembling total chaos, but somehow live to tell the tale. After several years trying unsuccessfully to start a family – pouring substantial quantities of money into an IVF hole in the ground en route – they started out down the road to adopting children, and have never regretted it for a second.
Image courtesy of imagerymajestic / FreeDigitalPhotos.net
Read The Previous Posts on This 12 Part Adoption Story