Doctor, Doctor

I had to go to the doctor for a full medical the other day.

I haven’t been to a doctor in a really long time, and since I've finished university, I wasn’t allowed to go back to the ones I had seen in the past at Student Health.

So I turned to my trusty friend Google: “doctors Wellington City”.

I picked the first one that came up on the list—it was walking distance from work—and gave them a ring. They couldn’t get me in for another week, and they quoted me $90 which seemed a little steep, but since I’m inherently lazy I took the appointment.

I showed up on the day and had a preliminary appointment with the nurse. She asked me questions like “Do you have tuberculosis?”—the answer was no—and “Can you pee in this cup?”—an offer I politely declined.

The doctor made me wait another ten minutes, but finally showed me into his office, sat me down, and asked me the same questions the nurse had just asked me. This seemed silly because he had the form she had filled out in his hand.

Then he pointed the small curtained section of the room and told me, quite affably, to duck behind the curtain and take my clothes off.

I paused and eyeballed him.

“What, all of them?”
“No, no. You can leave your underwear on.”

Anyone who has ever seen my underwear will know that there’s actually not that much difference. But he was the doctor, so I did as he said.

Once I was uncomfortably under-clothed he proceeded to check my eyes, ears, throat, glands and joint mobility. I genuinely couldn’t work out why I had taken all my clothes off.

I was standing virtually naked in the middle of the room, flapping my arms to show him that my shoulders worked just fine, when he dropped the final blow of indignity.

“Well, you’re not obese.”

He indicated he was done with me and, mildly outraged, I put my clothes back on. He handed me a form saying I was totally healthy (I could have told him that) and I went to the counter to settle my bill.

I genuinely didn't think it could get any worse until I was charged $250.

$250?? I was livid that I had been underquoted by so much, but apparently "that's the normal price for a medical."

I think the worst part of the whole experience, as I told my hysterical-with-laughter friends later is that, for the first (and only) time in my life, I had to pay a man to take my own clothes off.