Day 3 of ‘Bloganuary’: still sticking to it.
Write about the last time you left your comfort zone
Believe me, I know exactly when I was last out of my comfort zone.
I am pleased to report that I spend the vast majority of my life firmly entrenched inside my comfort zone, for three excellent reasons:
- I like it there.
- The greater your life experience the bigger your comfort zone. Not much fazes you any more. What I haven’t seen before during my close to seventy trips around the sun, I probably wouldn’t want to or need to;
- I am almost entirely devoid of any sense of adventure.
Unfortunately, though, even being blessed with good genes, as a male of a certain age I am not immune to the ravages of time and there is one very common if not ailment then ‘condition’ to which I appear to have succumbed. My demograph will know exactly what I’m talking about.
So, after a routine blood screen threw up a tell-tale sign, I was sent off for an also perfectly routine scan. Easy, I thought, bit of lotion on the lower abdomen and then a magnetic device passed over it. Miracles of science and all that. Just like monitoring a pregnancy, right?
Initially, it all went exactly as I’d envisaged and I thought that was it: job done. Wait for the pictures and go back home.
No such luck. When the doctor – a tall, somewhat aloof but friendly enough cove – was done with what now proved only to be Stage 1, he said cheerily (I translate) “Right, go and empty your bladder then we’ll do the internal exam”
What? (‘Quoi’ actually)
This I had not expected, nor anticipated. And definitely not keenly anticipated.
With heavy tread, I went off, did what I was told and returned to the couch, where I was to turn on my side and face the wall. At least that avoided any possibility of eye contact, I suppose.
Still cheery, the doctor said “have you ever had this procedure before?”
My reply came in three parts: “What? (quoi?)”; “Non” and “OWWWW!”
There followed several more ‘owwws’ of varying intensity that went on for what seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than a minute at most. Then he was done with me and left the room. Not even a kiss.
Somewhat gingerly, I returned to the waiting-room. The results were, if not normal (if they’d been ‘normal’ I wouldn’t have been there in the first place, would I?) at least reassuringly well within acceptable parameters and not requiring any further intrusive action.
I went straight back home and haven’t left my comfort zone since. And have no plans to.