You know you’re an adult when doctor appointments become less ‘help me, I have a cold’ and more ‘welcome to the party, here are my organs’.
*You should probably stop reading now if you’re squeamish.*
But there’s definitely no room for shyness when you’re having an MOT on your reproductive system.
If you’re lucky, there’s the chance to enjoy a good sit down and an episode of Bargain Hunt in the waiting room.
What isn’t so entertaining is the long-awaited and not very discreet EVERYTHING ELSE part of the appointment.
On a recent visit, I opted for the ‘all inclusive’ package (that isn’t a thing, it’s just more polite than ‘pee on a stick and hope for the best’).
Afterwards, I was told I’d receive a text to confirm whether I was going to die (like Google told me I was) or not.
After two weeks of anticipation, I finally received the text and … great… I’d need to do the whole thing again because something went wrong the first time around (how?!).
Joyfully, on the same day, I’d also received a text to say that the new trainers I’d ordered online had arrived in store and were waiting collection. OoOoh.
All I had to do was show the shop assistant the confirmation text message…
Let’s just say the shop assistant learned more about me than my taste in trainers that day. Yep, I showed her the wrong message. Now my life story looks something like this:
Pees on stick.
Gives stick to stranger to analyse.
Runs out of clinic in hope I don’t bump into anyone from school.
Walks into shoe shop, goes up to unsuspecting stranger and announces news of my peeing on stick by shoving secret text message in her face.
Meanwhile, shop assistant rolls eyes like she’s seen it all before, “someone will be out shortly”.
Thankfully, I lived to tell the tale and hopefully my next doctor appointment will be a walk in the park.
Well, a hurried walk to the health advisors in trainers.
FYI, I’m fine. And everything is in working order (apart from my reputation).