Thank you very much to all the lovely comments on Facebook! I haven’t responded fully until now as I felt the sheer earth-shattering incompetence of my birthday merited its own blogpost. We start from the beginning.
Wake. Early. Decide to get out of bed. Would usually go out and train but taking a rest week. Bummer, what to do? Eventually have something to eat and go back to bed for a bit. That was eventful!
Wake up again and go for a little swim. Spoilt brat – my Cairns apartment block has a pool. Enjoyed that but then get it in my head that I’ve broken something and try to fix it. Waste time and get hungry. And more hungry. Can’t fix it, go back upstairs. Call the parents on Skype – lots of warm cuddliness but need to talk to them about going to the doctor’s. I’m unwell on my birthday. I worry them and add another chore to my list of things to do before work. Flatmates are now all awake. The normal, working day has begun. Bummer!
Make the days meals and then book an appointment at the hospital for later in the afternoon. Go to work. But I have to move my computer – drat! Why is this so hard? Half an hour later m’colleague has finished, I’m just staring. Eventually ask the office IT-go-to-person. “Leave it to the professionals” I exclaim. “Oh, I’m not a professional” she says. “You’re just plain amateur” she implies. Should I laugh or cry?
Breakfast porridge is rushed. Not that I’m really rushed – My boss is busy and hasn’t had time to give me work. The meeting for our project has been cancelled so I can’t work on that. I’m in limbo. I hate limbo. But the working day passes in that way. I do love my food, but I always think that there’s definitely something wrong if it becomes a highlight of your day. From 9-5 on Feb 4th though, the lunchtime salad is just that (though admittiedly, I am rather proud of my lunchtime salad).
5 o’clock eventually comes. Doctor time. That’ll be $80 please! Oh yes, this isn’t the NHS is it. Should have known really – how else would I have got an appointment the same day? Also, the magazines are up-to-date – dead giveaway.
Dr Li listens to my ramblings, asks questions and gives no answers. “Blood test” he diagnoses. “Can you recommend anything else?”. “Nothing until we get the results”. Shouldn’t have expected more though – if he’d pulled out a tropical fungus and told me that would cure me, I wouldn’t have believed him anyway.
So to the blood test. That’ll be another…$190! Without my insurance, I can imagine weighing up the options – a 5 minute, probably unnecessary blood test or that Kindle I’ve been wanting/some serious new bike gear/entry to a few triathlons/some VERY nice food/… But blood test it is. I feel like an early 2000s Tour de France cyclist sitting in the hot seat getting a needle stuck in my arm. I ask a stupid question about red blood cell counts to further the illusion. Better than staring at the wall I suppose.
I leave but go back due to a stupid worry that I’d left my bank details lying about. Quelle surprise, I hadn’t! More wasted time. But now, its time for the FREE BIRTHDAY SUBWAY! I’ve recently been experimenting with not eating wheat (for no particular reason) but its free – can’t say no to that. Order the works with extra avocado (an Australian Subway addition if ever there was one). Get home and take another swim and at last relax – you can’t beat exercise. Walk a whole fifty meteres to get back to the apartment and what’s this? People are eating together? We never eat together! I don’t even have a shirt on. “Oh there you are” I hear. I’m tired and in a bit of a daze but when I get to my bedroom I realise what’s happened. That was a surprise birthday party, and I missed it. Whoops would be an understatement. I look guiltily at the table when I come back – pizza, salad, chocolate cake (literally with my name on it) all there. Effort has been put in here. All I can do is apologise. The excuses pour like Cairns’ February rain. Truth is, even when my parents tell me exactly at what time and where diner will be served, I’m still late. There’s always time (or not as the case may be) for just one more lap of the park. So a surprise party? The thought means an awful lot but the deck was stacked against the poor people. There’s still time to ceremonially cut the cake and post-mortem (or just mortem for me). Then bed. That’s it. 4/2/13 over. Thank God!
Well no, actually, that’s not fair – I got 2 surprise birthday cakes (one at work too) and lots of lovely wellwishing. And a nice salad. But still, it could have been better.
P.S.: I would have a photo of me cutting the cake on here but my phone got stolen. You couldn’t make it up really.