Today was to be a normal day of the mudane and the humdrum punctuated only by a visit to the GP for one of my 28 day injections. It turned out as expected. Only the nurses unfamiliarity with my injection created a moment of interest.
I arrived at the GP surgery, signed in and sat down to wait my turn. It became apparent very quickly that my black leather padded biker jacket was a mistake. A hot flush ensued. So there I am sweating profusely. My answer is to whip out my black silk fan, flick it open and begin to fan myself. I realise that this is not usual behaviour and draws quizzical looks from those around me. Funnily enough no one comments but the look of bemusement is unmistakable.
I am unrepentant, I am not going to suffer bouts of Chernbyl like overheating and pretend its not happening. The fact that an old bloke is sitting in the room frantically wafting himself with a black silk fan is something people are going to have to get used to. I suppose I could go for one of those nifty hand held battery fans that whirr and hum but I doubt its as effect as the traditional design. What I do not understand is why fans are not widespread amongst the population of menapausal women and fellow testoterone stripped men. Perhaps there are alsorts of subltle issues around not wanting to identify as being menapausal or testosterone deprived related to how one might be percieved and what assumptions others might make about the fan owner. I leave others to speculate.
After a period of fanning I am called into the inner sanctum of the surgery by the practice nurse. Not the usual nurse as the regular one is on holiday. I am greeted cheeerily and asked if I have my injection with me. I do, and hand it over. The nurse takes the packet and I leap on to the waiting couch and adjust my clothing to expose the required portion of my belly.
The folowing conversation occurred, “I’ve not done one of these before”says the nurse”. “oh” I say. Nurse is unpacking the stabstick and vials. “I’ll have to read the instructions” says the nurse. “Talk amongst yourself” she says. “Oh” I say, a little more nervously than before. “There is a lot here” she comments, “usually they come as small beads”. The mention of beads raises thoughts of hippy days and micro beads in cosmetics, but I just say “Oh really”. Then we are ready, well I am, I’m not sure she is but the alcohol swab is on me and the stab stick poised. “Sharp scratch” and the needle is in, followed by a prolonged push on the plunger. Done and the regulation square of gaze aquired I of course thank the nurse and leave via reception, having booked the next injection and my next bloods.
The rest of my day sees me build another chair/steps, put the washing out and doing some food shoping but feeling tired. I’m feeling distracted and need to get some time to think things through and plan my projects. Tomorrow will bring a Sainsbury’s delivery, a plumber and an old friend for afternoon tea. I’m hoping to make it to the gym, and remember the lessons from last time.
