I wanted to blog about my "adventure" to medical centre yesterday, but I was too busy to do it. Let me show you two pictures of my poor arms with plasters. I have not taken any pictures after taking off the plasters. Maybe next time when I blog.
Yesterday morning, I went down to my army camp for my medical appointment. It was my FFI for IPPT. I cannot remember what 'FFI' stands for, but I do remember 'IPPT' stands for Individual Physical Proficiency Test, similar to NAPFA test in schools.
My appointment was supposed to be 8am but I did tell the sergeant who booked the appointment on my behalf that I could only reach there around 9am. He said it was alright. Anyway, I reached the guard room slightly after 8.30am. I exchanged my identity card for a security pass to enter the camp. Also, I requested for a locker to keep my mobile phone which had a camera function. Camera phones are not allowed into all army camps and installations. I got the lucky 13 locker. The locker number was '13'. So lucky! I remembered my security pass number was 260.
So much for the numbers. I drove into the camp and parked near the medical centre. I entered the centre and registered myself at the registration counter. The place was smelt of a scent which you could find in any hospital.
Anyway, after I registered my name with the counter, I was told to wait at the waiting area outside the treatment room and the consultation room. I was given the registration form, but I realised there was no queue number written on it. There was no one else there, so I expected to have my turn very soon. A minute later, a high-ranking officer (LTC) came and sat at the waiting area too. He was quickly shown into the treatment room. Very efficient of them. After he left, I was still waiting for my turn and watching the news on the television. Then, I saw a number flashing outside the treatment room. The number was '505'. It looked so familiar. I looked around me. There was no one around except me. I was wondering if the number was for me. The same number flashed. Was it for me? Just as I was still wondering, a medic in uniform walked towards me and asked for my name. It was my turn! I was told that the last three digits of identity card number would be flashed as the queue number.
After I entered the treatment room, I sat down and the medic proceeded to draw blood from my right master arm. He followed some procedure to locate the blood veins in my right arm. Finally, he got ready the syringe, which was quite big, to draw blood. I was a little scared of the needle as it was quite long. He poked the needle through my arm and tried to draw the blood, but no blood went into the syringe. He tried to move the needle around (Mind you, the needle was still under the skin of my arm). After a few attempts of trying to "poke" the vein, he gave up and a medic sergeant took over from him. He tried, with no avail, on my left arm and later my right arm to draw the blood. The medic sergeant asked me whether I was afraid of needles. I was thinking who weren't be afraid after three needles went through the skin! I put up a brave front and replied that I was a little 'scared'. After that last attempt, my two arms were already punctured with three 'holes'. Blood was oozing from the 'wounds' on my arms. The two medics then decided to call the doctor for assistance. The doctor was attending to a patient in the consultation room next door. We waited for about ten minutes before the doctor came.
Dr Chia, I remembered, was 'more professional', obviously. Initially, the medic wanted to use 'vacutainer' to draw the blood. The 'vacutainer' seemed to be a better and sure way of drawing blood. It makes use of 'vacuum' in the container to draw the blood. The doctor chose the syringe instead. He was quick to find the blood veins and drew the required amount of blood in no time.
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