I don't know, folks, I DO NOT KNOW. Do they not have a class in Medical School called:
TALKING TO THE OTHER HUMANS, YOU KNOW, ABOUT THE HUMAN STUFF?
My GP, huffing her way through the medical report tickboxes (part of the Indian adoption pack), declaiming the "generic diseases" as Not A Real Thing, as predicted, also felt the need to explain to me that the Authority likes you to have done lots of fertility testing, so that's all resolved. (!!) Huh, I thought. Next she'll say I need closure and I'll have to kick her in the shins and run away, like a reverse leprechaun. And then we came to the HIV test and she felt inspired to remark all gossip-like:
They had to add this because so many gay men are adopting now, and you know, they're a high risk group.
I MEAN, REALLY. Sadly, as so often in these situations, my brain shut down in sheer disbelief, saying What? What? Do not compute! Do not compute! and all I could think of to say was:
So we'll get tested too, it's only fair.
Yeah, THANKS, BRAIN. What I wanted to do was make a stand in the form of an incisive diatribe on the nature of fairness and equality and ferfeckssake, DOCTOR, it's called DISCRIMINATION, and you're passing it on. Never mind the assumptions that: you know the testing criteria of India (who don't even accept gay adopters!) and that "so many gay people" are adopting, which can't even be true, because they can't! And you feel the need to gossip on that basis!
MY HEAD JUST EXPLODED. What a mess.
Before she took the blood test, she managed to fit it a quick:
Chances are you don't have it!
Which was lovely too. Grrrr.
(As it happens, she just rang me and said the tests came back all fine.)
Even Kittaloo doesn't want to know.
- I am still a salt fiend. Except when I am a sugar fiend! Why is moderation so hard?
- I went to visit my parents yesterday. When I left at about 11am the JB was relaxing on the sofa taking in a few swimming heats. I returned from said parental social interaction at about 7.30pm to find him in exactly the same position, but now with feverish gaze. He'd be persuaded to leave the box of extreme attractiveness for a minute but then he'd mutter oh! A FINAL! and would be gone again.
I admit I am enjoying it too. I find it tremendously diverting to be impressed by these extraordinary feats of human endeavour, and make dopey remarks like: My goodness! That is bendy! or Oh no! A stepback on landing! (which constitutes our expert commentary on the gymastics) and such-like. How about you? Do you know about such things?
- OH SUCH HUGE massive relief for Valery. PHEW, PHEW. Phew.