As some of you might have gathered, I rather like living in Oz and want to stay, at least until my hoose is finished anyway.
I could be here for a while!
To do this, I need permanent residency. Anyone who has been through the visa process will completely understand when I say that it's a huge pain in the arse and it's mostly undertaken telepathically. No one tells you what you need to collect and send off so it means you spend far too much time in the presence of the local Justice of Peace in some local magistrates court trying to certify copies of birth certificates, nursing qualifications and love letters from 1992.
So on Friday, as part of my visa requirements, I found myself at the visa medical place for a thorough once over.
...but if they even attempted to perform a TUBE (Totally Uneccessary Breast Examination) on me, someone would be getting a very nasty slap!
As part of the whole thing, I needed to be tested for all sorts of lurgy including Hepatitis B and C and HIV. I had to take the same tests for my working visa over a year ago so I wasn't worried about all those needle stick injuries from my dirty, scrubby patients I had obtained over the years. However, the last time I had these tests, the mother hubbard doctor had given me this pre test counselling (is the law and everything)....
" ah, you look all right. You'll be fine"
What if I had lied about not being a junkie?
The nurses took the bloods whilst teasing me about using the extra large needles just cos I was a fellow nurse and then sent me on my way into the doctors office. I was asked to undress and don a gown so he could do the physical examination (minus the TUBE...phew). He pulled the curtain around me and I stripped off down to my lovely new black burlesque styley bra and contemplated the flipping gown. I know I'm a nurse and so therefore I should have experience with all stuff 'drapey' but this thing had THREE arm holes!
On my last count, I only had use for two arm holes. What the flip was I going to do with a third? As I glanced around me for some divine intervention I happened to notice something which jolted my head practically off it's hinges.
In a very large mirror behind me, I could see the doctor trying desperately to scribble on his very important doctors scribbling pad while pretending to not look at my half naked reflection.
When will I stop taking my clothes off in front of strange pension-age folk?
Anyway the doctor did the examination which consisted of making me do some ballet moves from Grade One, including touching the ground, making "pretty toes" and holding my arms in first position (I suspect that was to see if I had any alcoholic tremblings!) before sending me off to the toilets for the dreaded wee sample.
Now, I'm not good with the old 'hover and pee' thing at the best of times. I won't indulge my ways with peeing in a public loo for fear that you'll whisper 'freak' at me whenever we meet in a corridor or hospital canteen.
So anyway, I was locked in a strange toilet with a full length mirror?! Off putting for two reasons.
- I simply cannot walk past a mirror without either admiring my hair or fixing my hair. Clearly I wasn't in quite the right place to be playing with strands of my growing out fringe. And having to watch yourself whilst you pee? Weird.
- I had convinced myself that it was actually a two way mirror so the nurses could make sure that I wasn't substituting my (obviously) drug addled wee with some thirteen year olds clean living specimen.
Minutes, maybe hours passed. Nothing.....
Hmm, Niagra, Angel and Victoria perhaps?
As the *cough* waters began flowing I was jolted by a knock at the door. As I confirmed that I was 'indeed in fine health, thank you so much for enquiring Mr Nursey Man', I realised a great horror. In the fright and commotion..
I had peed on my buggery-bastard jeans!
Eurgh.
In my panic I tried to sluice soapy water through the jean leg and then I spent a few frantic minutes desperately trying to dry the offending wet patch.
I spent the next twenty minutes backing away from people as I bid them Adieu for fear of them spying the "Nat-spacca mark"
If there is a next time, I'll be bloody well using the 'She-Pee' Chuz and Rho sent last year from Glastonbury
(The She-Pee is a revolution in continence management in festival goers! Just unzip, place and pee!)
4 comments:
well nat get used to it if you ever want to reproduce, its nine months of endless mssu. by the end of it you can pee straight into the universal container and not spill a drop. trust me i've had 3 kids!!!!
Well, i had a similarish experience on Saturday evening....
I was out to dinner with Sarah in a trendy tapas/bar/club establishment and decided to order a very delishious sounding raspberry cosmopolitan. The barman brought it over, i took it from him - and promptly sloshed the lot on my lap.
We're talking raspberry puree (complete with lumps) all over the crotch and down the leg of my lovely linen trousers. My lovely _white_ linen trousers.
Yes.
HUGE Dilemma.
You have to hand it to him. The barman kept a straight face, even when he came back to hand me a large wad of napkins. I was convinced i could hear giggles as he disappeared round the corner.
I phoned M and tried to impress upon him the importance of driving in to rescue me by bringing me a pair of jeans. Despite emphasising, more than once that this was a _red_ spillage all over the groin area of my _white_ trousers, he simply refused to catch on to the relevance of this and made many excuses as to why he couldn't be my knight in shining armour that evening.
I had to resort to dashing to the loo and trying to wash it off with soap and water and blue paper towels.
I was left with an even larger (and slightly blue-tindged)wet mark that i hid for the rest of the evening under napkins and my handbag.
But at least it was no longer red!
That has got to be my worst nightmare ever! Very funny though, even though Im sure the embarrassment was just too much!!
Shaz, am sure I'll NEVER be able to pee into a teeny tiny mssu container. That's what I call skill!
H, sounds awful. 'Natalies Rules' No. One....never wear white when drinking!
Moo, agreed, total nightmare. Seeing as everyone in the doctors office was there for the same thing, I could garantee that they would all be able to identify the embarrassing wet patch complete with tiny bits of paper towel fluff attached.
Never again!
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