Every year I go for my check up with the doctor, get an MOT as it were. Over the last few years that’s been easier said than done simply because of my travelling, but when I return to Australia I will see my GP and get a full service. This is usually routine as I’m lucky to say that my health has always been pretty good apart from the left nostril of me nose which is completely fucked…………

I’m not really keen on having a blood test but I’ve tried not to be such a big Jessie over the years and just to get on with it. The young girl that has replaced the “Old Girl” is equally as good and after a sharp intake of breath the needle was in stealing my blood. Mind you even although it was relatively painless I bruised quite badly.

A few days later I went to the Doc’s and got the results, always a little bit tense at this stage. We went through the first page; all OK…..second page, all Ok and then on the third page a red flag. Fuck, that’s not good me thinks………. it looks like my Iron levels are slightly high approximately 0.02 whatever’s higher than it should be. “What’s that” I say……..Doc “it’s your iron levels that have been flagged and they are just above normal”

He sends me for another blood test to check out if one of my genes is broken or to find out if I’m in trouble. This is not the kind of news that I was expecting or wanting to hear. I’ve always had a sense of dread going for medical tests and the older you become the more broken the body seems to get and so it’s only a matter of time before they find something……….isn’t it?

Don’t Google anything like this because it throws up more information than you can comprehend and it only leads to anxiety and despair. So I Googled anyway…….There are hundreds of possibilities, too many to mention and my mind is in turmoil. My whole future is up in the air and there ain’t any happy ending me thinks. Doc tells me that if there is nothing to worry about I’ll see you in 12 months, however if we need to discuss the results of the new blood test he will call me.

A week passes and nothing and therefore I’m breathing a sigh of relief. “No news is good news”, that’s what the Doc said. Two days later the phone rings and it’s the Doctor’s surgery telling me that the “Doc” wants a word about my second blood test, when can I come in? I put the phone down and my heart is racing and I’m thinking that’s it life as I know it is over and I’m fucked. Now I’m angry at Covid for upsetting my travel plans this year, I knew that I should have been travelling this year. The year of the “Rat” is still throwing punches…………

I don’t sleep well and I wake up at 5am. The appointment is for 9am. I sit out in the car my heart racing, pondering scenarios…………”What’s he going to say?”

I like my doctor, Dr Muhammad is from Pakistan. Over the years I have always had an “Ethnic” for a doctor, Kenya, Nigeria, Egypt, India and now Pakistan. We both have to wear masks and so there are no facial expressions to read and the body language is minimal. He is methodical and does not rush with what he wants to tell me. He prints off a few things and then says to me “I will explain everything”

So this is where I hear for the first time Haemochromatosis. He tells me that you can be a carrier and in which case I personally don’t have to worry or I could be suffering from this and then it would be a different story he tells me. I’m a carrier…….

This means that if I had children then they me be at risk of something more serious developing in the future but to all intents and purposes I am OK. I have to ask him a few times before the relief washes over me and I realise that this blip is only a blip and life for me will go on as normal.

I sat in the car and dried my eyes, listened to the radio and pondered what to do with the rest of my day. The news was good, no need to worry and yet I felt that I had just dodged a bullet. I can’t go back to the house. I fire up the old Ford and we head west towards Grandchester and Laidley driving on the back roads and keeping away from the highway. A Radio 2 podcast is playing and I’m listening to the protest songs of the 60’s and I wind my way down the open road not knowing where I’m going and to be honest I don’t really care, I just want to drive and to relax and to realise that this scare that I had was just that and nothing else. Life can go on as it always has and I can still make plans for future travels without a dark cloud hanging over me.

200 km’s later I pull up in the drive bursting to go to the loo and feeling like I could eat a scabby headed horse, it’s just turned 1pm. Luckily I have leftovers. I plank myself in front of the TV, after going to the loo of course. and watch “Wheeler Dealers” After coffee it’s time for a siesta…………life is good.