The New Beachhutman Blog

“As long as……”

.... I had Skyped back to Renee over the weekend, “the buggers promise me the  permit if the medical is OK this time!”

I was referring to a previous occasion on which I had undergone a medical examination in Beijing for the purposes of a work permit, only to be told after I had endured the rectal examination and associated indignities that I was to old for the work permit anyway. Too old! Me! AND they hadn’t bothered to tell me before, hand.

So this time when with a giggle smiley Renee had announced to me that I was to have another such examination in pursuit of a work - permit - visa - expert - certificate etc, I was waspish. Which is probably why John, with ever such an apologetic look, had leaned over the cube farm wall on Monday and told me that I needed to attend for another medical this morning. OK, I want things to work, and am pretty fit for an overweight old foreigner, so I’d agreed, albeit with a  slight sense of foreboding.

So this morning, coffee-less and snack-less, I had met John at a northern Beijing subway station, and we had whisked (I am quite fond of that verb, aren’t I?) ourselves by taxicab to the statutory foreigners medical examination centre in Haidan. Where I had expected the worst.

But fair do’s, it was bloody efficient and bloody fast. OK, it cost three times the cost of the medical a year ago in Chaoyang Hospital, and was actually less thorough (for example, John had no need to either ask me to piss in a pot or bend over so that the good doctor could …. I trust I do not have to draw a picture?

But it was blood test, ENT, Cardio, X-ray, Eyes, Weight and BMI, and out again in 30 minutes. All conducted by quite jolly Doctors and technicians, and, touch wood, I seem to be healthy enough to be a visiting expert. (I wonder what they’d make of Stephen Hawking?)

Do you know, in a way, I regret it wasn’t as thorough as the last. A full checkup  for about 20 quid was quite a bargain last year. Even at 60 this year, albeit at a vastly superior facility, I felt it didn’t tell me much. Even if the doctor wasn’t a fully trained proctologist, it’d nice to confirm that all those years of cooked tomatoes haven’t been in vain, Prostate-wise.