This morning I went, with considerable trepidation, to have my immigration medical. While far from pleasant in any way it proved to be an eyeopening experience – in all the chaos and craziness, this unfortunate hurdle on the path to residence here turns out to be an sbsolute model of efficiency.
We showed up at 9am for our appointment. The place was packed and my heart sank when I saw that it employs a bacon counter ticket system. Thinking of past bad experiences at passport offices and other places that use numbers I was kicking myself for not bringing some emergency rations, particularly as we’d been instructed not to eat beforehand. I didn’t think we’d get out before lunchtime.
The first task was a document to complete where you have to mark all the horrible illnesses and surgeries you had ever had. Much to my surprise, among the usual suspects was a box marked “Plague”! I wonder how many people can say they have had that.
Almost as soon as I had finished filling out the details my number came up. I did not expect that. First comes the admin portion. A lady checks your ID against the document. Done within seconds it was then a matter of scooting over to the next chair to the next computer operator who notes any operations. As soon as you vacate a chair, then next pair of buttocks fill the same spot. That’s when I realised it was operated like a human sheep dip.
Before I knew it I was sent to the next room and being ordered to stand on scales, before being handed a dressing gown and those funny plastic overshoes. This room is at the start of a short corridor with five rooms on each side. Each room is dedicated to a different test. (funnily enough there is actually a room 101 – although just an admin room rather than my worst Orwellian nightmare). From there you are ordered from one to the next where tests are undertaken with military precision. I had a chest XRay, an ECG, an ultrasound and some blood samples taken. The eye test was hilarious as I didn’t quite understand the instructions:
Me: ” I don’t understand what you need me to say”
Doctor pointing randomly at a chart: “Can you see it?”
Me: “Yes”.
The Doctor then looks quickly up my nose and down throat (presumably the rigorous NT bit of the ENT exam) then stamps me ready to go to the next room.
Throughout the whole process, I’ve never felt more like a random piece of meat. The one thing that does make you feel a little better about it is the fact that the small corridor is filled with other itinerant souls dressed in the same weird gown and shoes, shuffling from one room to the next. I can imagine that Purgatory would be the same, endless shuffling from room to room for random procedures. That said, it was all over in a remarkable thirty minutes so I can’t complain too much. I’ll find out later this week if I’m healthy enough to be a resident. Very pleased that’s now over.