I’ve been having trouble with my back this past year – which has made me feel like a complete Grandad, constantly twisting, clicking, and moaning on…I thought it would be a good idea to get it checked out by a doctor in England in the short window that I was on home-ground. You know, to see if anything was really amiss, or if I was just whining unnecessarily!
So I had to set up an appointment, but wasn’t really sure how to go about it…I know you can just Google these things but for some reason it didn’t cross my mind…I just rolled in unannounced and thought the nice people at the reception would probably help me out;
“Errr…hi…hello, hi. I’d like an appointment please…”
“Alright, what’s the problem?”
Now I found this odd. Maybe it’s just me! But what if it was something really personal, something I really didn’t want to share with the rest of the waiting room? A like…ball related thing, or like a penisey problem, or whatever. I probably wouldn’t want a load of strangers hearing about all that!
“It’s like a weird back thing…it’s like, sorry…it’s…”
“A weird back?”
“Yeah…I don’t know – it aches, I just wanted to check if it was-“
“You wanted to know from a professional if it is weird, or not?”
“Ergh, yes. I suppose so.”
And so after a condescending few minutes, I was given my appointment time – and bid her good day. I returned a week later…although funnily enough I hadn’t been having much to complain about. My back had been relatively well behaved. Now I would look like a big fat liar! Despite this I didn’t want to end up looking like a fool at the reception again, so kept going over the name of the doctor over, and over, and over – so that I wouldn’t be caught out!
“Hello! I have an appointment at 9:20.”
“Okay, what’s your name?”
“No…what is YOUR name?”
“Err…my…errr…” Now this really threw me, I was racking my brains for what seemed like forever, why did she have to ask me such a difficult question?! I felt like this was the final question on Who Wants To Be a Millionaire? I was never going to get it right! Only a genius would!
“Err…it’s…John. John…Taggart!” Phew, got there. I took my seat with reddened cheeks, and an expression that clearly spelled out how ashamed I was.
I waited a while, trying not to make eye contact with people – and also trying to subtly block the sputtering coughs from the contagious man next to me. But I didn’t have to sit for long, and was soon shepherded through by a beeping machine, announcing my name in red – and informing me of which room I had to go to. Room 7.
I walked in unsure whether to do a handshake, after all I may have hand-plague…or something…or do doctors wear gloves for that very reason? Hmm…not sure. Anyway, he didn’t offer it, so I decided against it. Instead I just sat, as he quizzed me on this, and that. After the interrogation he told me to roll up my jumper – which made for an awkward scene, me standing with a self-made belly top, as he massaged, and prodded my knobbly joints!
He came to three conclusions, a trifecta of back ache horror, if you will. It wasn’t due to my flat feet, as I had guessed (I have feet like Donald Duck) instead it is down to working with small children – always leaning, and bending down to speak to them – like the BFG. Then there is the fact that I am always writing, and I probably slouch into my laptop when I do…then there is the fact that I am a tallish person in Asia…so I have to stoop somewhat to get a clear view of things, as “it’s not designed with John size in mind” as Dr Foo boldly announced!
After all that we shared some stories about China, and Korea, which was nice – I then thanked him for his time, and bounced back home – paying special attention to my posture, asI had just endured quite a telling off!
At least I can head back to South Korea with peace of mind! Mind…the long flights always give me a sore bum…perhaps I should have got Dr Foo to check that for me too…
On second thought, I think I’m fine.