Being sick has it’s advantages, you know, like seeing every week a playful twenty-six-year-old blue-eyed nurse. Lately I’ve made a habit of visiting the little clinic in my town to do blood tests, to exclude all infections before the doctors will let me do a lymph node biopsy. The idea was to do all tests – about eleven of them, including Epstein-Barr, Cytomegalovirus, Toxoplasmosis, Hepatitis, and the like – on the same day (about a month ago) but enter the aforesaid nurse into the waiting room, and my medical strategy underwent a radical change, so much so that I’ve been returning to the clinic for tests once or twice a week, doing only two or three at a time, under the pretext of waiting for the results first before doing the remaining tests.
I’m excited when she pricks me and I must admit that one Tuesday when she was not there, I mumbled an excuse and went home without doing any tests at all.
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