RD At Ta DR (warning contains penis info)

Do you like what I did there? It's my first ever post with a palindrome for a title. How cool is that? I was going to call it "Rotavator" but that would have been pointless. However, my use of the word "ta" is dubious, perhaps wrong, I admit to being guilty there as charged.

"I don't know anyone who lets the public so much into his life via his pimped up diary" was what a good friend said about me the other day. And he really did say it in italics, that's the sort of chap he is. He's a rather cool dude and, come to think of it, I reckon all his conversations, if put into writing, would be in italics.

The statement made me think a little. You, the reader, do know a bit about me and that's a weird concept. I've met many a chap, plenty a chappess, through blogging and some have become good friends, good friends who know me anyway. But others, I guess, read this blog, know quite a lot of detail about me and my life in general and yet we've never met. It's weird in a way, nice in another way, just different to many in another.

But, in order to keep up the information flow, I must tell you about my trip to the Doctor's the other day. For obvious reasons I'd ask you not to tell this to my mother, what with her being a Sri Lankan, a mother (of me) and a Doctor. I think there's no need to explain further.

For some time I've been a little bit worried that I might be diabetic. There's a family history of it, in my family that is, not any other random one. And the symptoms have been stacking up in recent months.

An average night for me these days, though they usually happen at night, involves anything between three and six toilet trips, just number ones, not twos. This is a bit of a nightmare, not that I have time for nightmares with all the getting up. Each time, if you'll excuse the detail here, I pee, I mean I pee properly, not some trickle that proves my desire to go is a trick of the mind or something.

On top of that I drink a hell of a lot of water, maybe a litre or more each night. Mr Evian is my best friend, closely followed by a Mr Shanks. There are other bits and pieces too, hardly relevant except that the end result is that I felt a need to make myself a Doctor's appointment and get checked out.

It's a new fangled surgery this place, as Doctor's surgeries go it's a pleasant and relaxing environment. When you turn up, instead of going through the ordeal of talking to the receptionist, you can choose to check in on a touch screen. I think it's cool. You tell it your date of birth and its clever brain figures out who you are and logs you as being in the waiting room and ready to be seen.

After shoving some little kid off the toy efficient and technical machine I did my thing and took my place in the waiting room. It was a close call but I chose "Stuff" magazine instead of "Asian Bride" to read. I mean that sincerely, it really was a close call. I'd never buy Asian Bride but was tempted to have a glance through it. My ego couldn't handle it though.

I perused Stuff, observed the other people coming and going and took note of one Doctor who looked rather cute. I knew that I was going to be seen by a female Doctor and hoped she might be the one. I contemplated the issue. If I got called in by cute Doctor would it be practical to make up something, perhaps a strange feeling on my willy. I guessed some would consider it unethical.

The thinking proved academic as the other Doctor called out my name to be seen. By "other" I mean not cute.

I told her the symptoms and the family history (my family). She agreed that I should get it checked out and started to fill out a form for me to have a blood test. She said that it sounds possible that it's type two diabetes or perhaps a kidney infection or something. I am to go to the local hospital at eight in the morning after consuming nothing except water from midnight the night before.

I found that quite amusing, as that would more or less be my normal diet anyway, just that my usual two or three cups of tea would have to be skipped, not a big deal.

Then she gave me one of those bottles.

"And if you could fill this bottle for us here, we'll test the urine as well."

I looked at the bottle, coolly managing to hide my lack of coolness about this. It dawned on me that I'd never done this before. She explained further that there was a toilet just near the reception area and that I could just do it on my way out and hand it to the receptionist.

"Don't worry, our receptionists are well used to it" she added.

I thought she was taking the piss. (insert punchline here................)

I exited, doing my utmost to look casual and carefree, trying to make it look as though this was just ambling through a park and enjoying the view, as if I wasn't looking for the toilet and hiding the test tube type thing so that other people wouldn't see it.

The toilet was there. The Doctor had told me that I could do the sample at home if required, then drop it into the surgery, but I knew that would mean a test tube full of pee in my fridge until I could be bothered to go back to the surgery to hand it in. It had to be done there and then.

I locked the bathroom door, checked it, then checked it again. Then I opened the test tube sample thing and stared at it. It stared back at me with a "what you looking at?" expression. Had it been a "what you looking for?" expression then the answer would have been easy; instructions.

I was lost. What the hell? Should I place the test tube, which incidentally reminded me of the container that my Dad's old vinyl record cleaner used to be held in, under the RD willy and pee? Or do I pee, then scoop up a sample from the puddle? I figured the scooping up option wasn't really the way forward.

Should I kind of pee first, then whack it under the pee mid flow or should I hold it under the aforementioned willy before beginning the pee. Then, whichever of those options I chose, I didn't know if the container should be held right at the end of my willy with no gap, or whether one leaves a gap, hoping the aim is true.

Estimating volumes and heights isn't one of my strong points. So, when urinating into a container, I wondered if there'd be a sudden gush and the thing would be overflowing with the amber nectar before I knew what was going on. Was my muscle control good enough? Frankly I didn't think it would be.

After much thinking, some smart and quick mental exercises that someone incredible like Mervyn Silva or Anarkali would be proud of, I decided on the following options.

1. Hold container on end of willy
2. Pee.
3. Stop when, more accurately if, the test tube gets full
4. Continue peeing into toilet until bladder appears empty, desire to pee stops or surgery closes for the day. It was only about three in the afternoon but one must think of all possibilities.

And the plan worked. Of course I had to finish the job whilst holding the open container full of pee in one hand and the RD member in the other. That was awkward as neither is a comfortable one handed job.

I finished, chucked the container in the plastic bag I'd been given and wandered out nonchalantly to the reception area. I was surprised that the sample felt warm, I didn't know pee was warm and, were I so inclined, I reckon I could have used it to make a decent cup of tea, perhaps coffee or any other hot beverage of your choice.

I stood awkwardly behind another woman holding the thing. Then, when it was my turn, I gave it in to the receptionist. She took it with an air of unfazed indifference. I felt hurt. Had she known the turmoil I'd sufferred, the angst and the anguish I reckon she'd have treated it with far more respect.

And off I went.

So, with my apologies for the level of detail, though with the belief that it was entirely necessary to tell you the story, I bid you a good weekend.