Having a ripped stomach is something I've always aspired to but never achieved. Until now, it would seem. And sadly in this case I'm not talking six pack.
In the lead-up to last year's Great North Run, I lamented on here about my poorly tummy (bless me) which, according to Dr Google, bore all the hallmarks of a "sports hernia." Still, it helped me pull in a bit more cash so the pain was worth it.
Unfortunately, several weeks later, it was no better so I went to see a real GP. Let's call him Dr Shitt.
He had a quick poke before declaring he had absolutely no idea what it was, although adding that he didn't "think" it was serious. Then he sent me packing. Good for him.
10 weeks later, it was still no better. So I phoned the surgery seeking another appointment. The nice lady said I could see Dr Shitt again at 3pm. I politely declined and asked if I could see an alternative expert, perhaps one who was in doctor class the day they did sore stomachs. She said I could see Dr Shitt-Too the following Wednesday. I asked if Dr Goode was available instead. She said no. I said I looked forward to seeing Dr Shitt-Too the following Wednesday.
The following Wednesday came along - last Wednesday, as it turns out.
I arrived at the surgery. And, with minimal delay, Dr Shitt-Too emerged to lead me into his centre of excellence/room. Waiting to look at me in a rather bemused fashion, was Miss Bemused Student. I said hello. She looked back it me, a mixture of teeth braces and bemusement.
Dr Shitt-Too asked me to describe my problem. I described my problem. He asked to loosen my jeans so he could have a poke. He had a poke. Miss Bemused Student looked away.
Safely re-packed and re-belted, I sat down eagerly awaiting the verdict.
"I don't know what it is," said Dr Shitt-Too.
"Right," I replied, probably looking more bemused than Miss Bemused Student although it was probably a close-run thing.
"A sports hernia?" I suggested helpfully. "I got that from the Internet."
"Could be," said Dr Shitt-Too, before turning to his in-house sidekick, Miss Bemused Student.
"What do you think it is?" he asked.
She didn't know either.
Dr Shitt-Too then ran through the options with his charge, seemingly unaware that I was still in the room.
"We could just send him away," he said.
"You've already done that," I interjected.
"But we've already done that," he soldiered on, ignoring me. "So we could send him for a scan. What do you think?"
"I think you should send me for a scan," I interjected again.
"I think we should send him for a scan," said Miss Bemused Student.
They're sending for a scan. No idea when.
