Wyn Drabble: Probing exam the order of day

I'm feeling decidedly over-probed. That may not even be a word but I know how I feel.
If I achieve nothing else today, I might just make you more aware of the myriad ways you can be medically probed when you reach a certain age - perhaps get you prepared for it.
And, if you're one of those typical men who won't see a doctor, perhaps I can encourage you out of your middle-aged male lethargy.
Over the last few weeks I've had so many blood tests that the inside of my right arm looks like a dartboard. The frequency of probes hasn't made it easier to deal with. I still can't watch. I've never been able to watch a needle going in. But to see a real wuss in action, you should see me with my new digital blood glucose measurer. First I had to install a "lancet device" into the jabber. It took a while. The jabber didn't seem to twist the way it did in the diagram but by holding my mouth at a rakish angle and grimacing a lot I managed to remove the end and insert the sharp bits.
My jabber was ready for use.
Next job was to locate a testing strip and insert it into the digital meter.
The flashing readout showed me that I now needed to apply a drop of blood to the exposed end of the testing strip. This required me to lance myself to draw blood. Me, lance myself!
You could dial 1 to 5 on the jabber to achieve different depths of prick (as it were), 5 being for the thickest skin or the deepest probe. Erring on the side of caution I chose 1, loaded the jabber and, screwing my eyes tightly shut, grimacing wildly, holding my knees together, twisting my toes inwards, doing a sort of clumsy pirouette and uttering several Hail Marys, I flicked the firing button sending the lancet towards one of my fingers. Nothing.
I dialled up to 2. Still not enough. 3. Success. I drew a tiny drop of blood, applied it to the testing strip and looked at the screen displaying my first reading.
It was a perfectly normal reading. Time for a nice lie-down.
I've also been probed by radiation. According to a cheerful hospital poster, this involves a large machine sending big yellow arrows (high energy x-ray beams) into your body around the affected area. Of all the probes outlined today, this is the only one you don't actually feel.
And, once again, I've recently endured the prostate probe. No, of course I won't be going into details in a family newspaper. Anyway, you already know the details.
The doctor slips on a surgical glove and, with a sinister grin creeping across his face, he says, "Let's just have a little look, shall we?" Then he "inspects" your prostate. What could be simpler?
But the latest probe is, I guess, the frontal version of the colonoscopy. A urologist told me I would be having a urethro-cystoscopy. Because it sounded medically convincing (ie it had a multi-syllabic name) I just accepted it as medically sound.
He said it would involve sending a camera into my bladder.
"I do hope it's not a Box Brownie," I replied.
The urologist was not convinced I fully understood so he explained further: "It involves sending a tiny camera up the..."
When I came to, I demanded a second opinion. He gave me one. It was exactly the same as the first one.
When I came to again, he told me he had devised a cunning back-up plan - he would do it under general anaesthetic, for my personal comfort.
I do hope I haven't put you off with this probing probe into probes but, as they say, forewarned is forearmed. The important point though is this: It's all for your own good so if you're one of those men who won't get checked, I say it's time to get over it. If I can do it, anyone can.
And let's be thankful for the medical professionals who are so skilled in these areas.
One wonders, though, how you develop an interest in such branches of medicine. Is it because there are always plenty of openings?
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, a writer, public speaker and musician.