The late comedian Joan Rivers used to joke that she was at an age when all her friends were dying. “And at their service, the minister says, ‘She’s gone to a better place.’ No, she didn’t. She had a house in the Hamptons!”
It’s gallows humour, but you get her point. There are some things in life about which you just have to laugh because the alternative is to cry in despair. Getting old and dropping dead is way up there on the list. Thankfully, my friends are all still alive and kicking, but I’m now at an age when my annual calendar includes a full medical health check-up.
How this happened is a complete mystery to me. One minute, I’m dancing on the bar counter at Elvis (if you know, you know), and the next, I’m squinting down the list of medical tests at Fullerton Health’s 12,000 sq ft Health Screening Centre in Novena wondering if I should have the prostate ultrasound or the stress ECG. Or maybe both, the neurotic, kiasi hypochondriac in me whispers.
As medical facilities go, I might as well be in the Hamptons; it’s all so incredibly posh. Originally, I’d signed up for one of the 28 Health Screening Pods. On the Fullerton Health website, they look like Singapore Airlines’ Business Class seats: A private cocoon wrapped around comfy banquette, small desk slash tray and charging outlets.
All of which is – for me, at least – a huge step up from the usual impersonal offerings of just about every other medical health service in town to which I’ve subjected myself every year since I turned 40.
You know the ones: Ugly fluorescent-lit waiting rooms filled with people who look vaguely unhappy or worried about what unspeakable horrors might be lurking in their stool sample. Fullerton Health, on the other hand, was co-designed by Scott Brownrigg, the designers behind hotels, airports and arts centres around the world. So, there’s that.
And rather than be forced to schlep from one impersonal waiting room to another, someone comes to you to take your blood and blood pressure and so on. If bigger equipment like X-rays and scanning is involved, you’re personally escorted by the concierge. In between, you’re lounging about in your pod sending out stinging emails to your minions back in the office, or playing Candy Crush.
Somehow – perhaps because Santa knew I’d been a good boy this year – I was upgraded to one of the 10 suites just across the hall. If the Health Screening Pods are already a treat, the suites are like being ushered past the curtains into SQ’s Suites cabin. Bookended with windows on two walls looking out over the chaotic intersection of Novena’s Velocity, my corner crib was huge, complete with sofa and lounge chair, dining table and private en-suite bathroom. The only things missing were the welcoming flute of Cristal and a bathtub.
I half convinced myself I was in the green room of Oprah’s talk show, waiting for my turn to chat with the Earth Mother herself. Except, of course, it wasn’t Oprah who was waiting for me on the other side of the door.
For two-and-a-bit hours, I was zapped and prodded, instead, by a steady rotation of smiling med techs and doctors. Blood was taken; urine samples given, and stool samples scooped in the privacy of my en-suite. My kidneys and liver were scanned, heart rhythm monitored, lung capacity tested, eyesight tested and body mass index measured. One machine took two seconds to measure my muscle tone, weight, height and a whole page of bio-data.
After each test, I’d wander through carpeted corridors of the kind you’d normally associate with an expensive law firm back to my suite.
This is medical testing for the aesthetically demanding, bone-lazy, social introvert. Ordinarily, in the other medical facilities, I’d expect to pass dozens of other patients coming and going from their own tests. Invariably, we’d avoid eye contact, as if you could tell from the awkward way I walked that I’d just been given a digital prostate exam – and for most strangers, that would most definitely qualify as TMI. Instead, all my tests seemed to be choreographed and timed in such a way that I was never in danger of bumping into anyone.
And when my blood test was done, a sweet tea-lady poked her head through the door to offer breakfast, which comprised a choice of juices, teas and coffee, and the cutest little two-tiered stand decorated with sandwiches and savoury tarts.
It’s not something I ever expected, but I was almost sorry when the whole health screening was done, and I was waved off to the elevator. Emerging into the general hospital lobby surging with a sea of other distracted patients was a bit of a shock. I imagine it’s the same feeling that First Class passengers must experience when they get off the plane and find themself waiting for their luggage at the carousel with all the other passengers.
What did I do? I took out my phone and booked my next medical health screening for 2025.
