My At Home Physical

It’s time to renew my life insurance.  Gotta have it, but there is nothing fun about the process.

I have a physical every single year where they poke and prod me, why, why is it necessary for the insurance company to repeat the process?  I sign a form releasing my medical records to them.  But they insist on coming to my house to inflict more pain.

Last week, a little old lady strolled up my driveway at 9 AM.  She works for a company that makes house calls.  It’s like Grub Hub but for bodily fluids.

The woman told me she was a retired nurse and took this on as a part time job just for fun.  She had white hair and a suitcase full of syringes and vials.  She asked me six hundred questions, that I’d already answered online, and then asked if I wanted to pee first or have my blood drawn.

I freak out at the sight of needles, and blood, so I chose to get that out of the way. 

“Can you please take it from my hand?  My arm veins like needles less than the rest of me.”

Phlebotomists don’t like hands. 

“It’ll hurt worse that way,” she scolded.

“I’ve been told that before.  But the idea of a hunking piece of medal shoved up the crease of my arm makes me pass out so the hand it will be.”

“Suit yourself.”

I turned on the TV for a distraction.

It didn’t hurt.  It never does.  It’s just the thought of it.  Blood is supposed to be INSIDE you.  Just like your spleen.  I don’t want to see it.

She then gave me a cup and told me to fill it.  At the doctor, you pee in a small container and leave it in a little metal cabinet where it magically disappears.  I had to bring this one back out and hand it to her like I was serving a cup of tea.

“Would you like a sugar cub or dash of cream?”

She didn’t finish it.  I had to pour the leftovers back down the toilet.  I felt like she’d seen a very private part of me.

My home nurse then informed me she had to perform an EKG and told me to remove my shirt.  She lay me on the couch.  Sadly, that day I’d hire men to replace a significant portion of my roof.  As she stood over me, her hands on my bare chest, out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the roofers walk by my back windows.  We made eye contact.  He quickly walked away.

I could only imagine what he was thinking.  I’m grateful she didn’t check my prostate. 

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