Swing dancing in my neurologist’s office and meeting the man of my dreams …

I started the day with a bit of a sleep-in today, a nice luxury for a Monday (as too was the slow-paced shower and eating breakfast at home) … Drove out to Clayton mid-morning for my appointment. My neurologist [Dr VG] was running about 15 minutes behind time, but I was parked in one of the secret side streets with free 1-hour parking, so I wasn’t too bothered by waiting a bit longer as long as it wouldn’t require moving my car.
Dr VG was very apologetic when he ushered me into his waiting room, but I said it wasn’t a problem and that he’d probably make up time with my appointment, because I was so well and really just there for my regular 6-monthly social visit. I was met with the [still] common “How was Sri Lanka?” question, and then on to chatting about the new plans for a trip to Mongolia, and the immunisations that I will require: Tetanus, Typhoid, Yellow Fever. Better to get them sooner than suggested incase they interfere with my regular medication (which, ironically, is interferon and interferes with my broken immune system). Comical suggestions that he could not give me his permission to travel to Mongolia without my own personal neurologist, and then the requisite basic neurological tests.
Normally, these basic tests involve things like me walking back and forwards on my tip toes and on my heels, me standing with my feet together and eyes closed while my neurologist tries to gently push me off balance, me touching my finger to my nose and to his finger and back again while his finger moves around in front of my face … Basic indicators of fine motor skills etc. Today, however, he said “Show me your stuff” [which sounds slightly dodgy as I type it here …] and then, “Can you do a bit of a jig, or a foxtrot?” To which I replied, and demonstrated, “No, but I can swing dance!” Dr VG asked me to repeat my demonstration, and was then satisfied that I had aced my tests for this visit.
Next came the mandatory question from Dr VG about my likelihood to conceive a child in the next little while (and suggestions that I might meet a very tall Mongolian man who would sweep me off my feet), with the response from me “Slim to none. Basically none”. And I assured him that I understood that I could not be taking my preventative medication and be up the duff at the same time. I asked him whether there was any need to send me for an MRI scan while I am feeling so fit and healthy, and, after the dictation of two letters (one to my new GP, and the other for me to take to the Mongolian embassy for translation – a handy thing to have with me in case they wonder why I’m carrying so many syringes!) the appointment ended with him directing me to stay healthy, to come back in 6 months again, or to come and see him if I had any troubles. His last comment was that he didn’t expect any complications from me until the day when I come to him and say, “Dr VG, I’ve met the man of my dreams! … And we want to have babies.” And that is when my treatment will get interesting (but I think he relishes a challenge) and the feeling in my legs becomes the ante with which my partner and I gamble. But, hey, reality check – that’s not going to be happening before my next visit because:
a) I’m not going to fall in love with a Mongolian and want to have his babies.
b) I’m not going to fall in lust with a Mongolian and want to have his babies.
c) I’m not going to accidentally become impregnated with the babies of a Mongolian.
d) If I do [happen to] fall in love (or lust) with a local – much more likely in the scheme of things – I’ll be sure to use contraception of some sort … just because I’m not allowed to get pregnant without Dr VG’s permission. [NB. not the only reason, let me assure you!]


~ by pincushiondiary on January 16, 2006.

One Response to “Swing dancing in my neurologist’s office and meeting the man of my dreams …”

  1. Isn’t funny how conversations about our respective trips abroad seem to revolve around sex and babies? I’m going to China with a friend and everyone seems to be assuming that I’m either going to jump HER bones, or some poor random Chinese guy. Argh. Really, I’m going there for the scenery. “No, really!”

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