Forty and Fit?

Old age continues to heap its indignities on my ever silvering hair (I have to admit to a certain degree of smugness creeping in at not needing to use graying). Apparently, hitting 40 has a detrimental effect on your risk profile, as Dimple informs me I will have to procure a medical certificate before I’m allowed to go skydiving. Given that (a) it’s a tandem dive (b) I’m only just 40 (c) they need you to sign a release and (d) all the above, this seems to be a clear case of ageism discrimination. We debate the wisdom of lying about my date of birth, and I urge Dimple to try and recollect if they actually verify age before letting you on board. She can’t remember if they asked for ID. We agree on a strategy : she will put me down as being ’71 born, and claim oversight (this was the woman who insisted Chilean immigration hadn’t return the other half, while it languished in her bag) if they demanded proof. In the interim, I would check with my neighbourhood NHS GP about the possibility of acquiring one and investigate any potential doctoring of my drivers license.

Dr. Jenny Steel who looks like she’s young enough to be my daughter (well…) looks a tad confused and wants to know if I’ve ever been sky diving before. She then asks for the form. Good point. If these damn divers wanted med certs, they should’ve given me a form to fill out. I tell her there isn’t one, and I just need a letter saying I’m fit. Hmmmm. Not a problem but quite possibly its something that will cost me. Excuse me? A menu is consulted, and yes, there is a charge of £15 to procure a medical certificate. My indignation at this outrageous daylight corruption threatens to overwhelm me. I thought faltu students in Bombay were the only ones that paid for a doctor’s excuse! I was here on legitimate grounds. Furthermore, as a taxpayer, surely I’ve given my pound of flesh to the NHS, and the least they can do is assure everyone else, that despite parting with that 0.46 kg, hitting 40 wouldn’t have debilitated me any further! My license has already proved impossible to forge (one of the disadvantages of ending in a 0), so I most reluctantly agree to the hafta.

A quick read of my medical history, three visits over the past 2 years, boring questions about my general health, a rather rude comment about not looking overweight, a calming BP readout, a few deep breaths as she dances a stethoscope across my chest and a few deeper ones as she does my back. One quick check as to the form with senior doctor in the house and she taps out a totally pheeka letter, stating that the checkup was unremarkable. Unremarkable?! For £15 I thought a slightly more vociferous if not floral defense of my fitness would have been in order and urge her to add something about being fit. She throws in a fit for sky diving and like in Sahakari Bhandar, hands me the letter with a yellow slip and directions to the cashiers. Needless to say, unlike Sahakari Bhandar, Paddington Green Health Centre does not accept plastic, I leave my hard won letter as hostage, with a promise to return before dusk with the ransom.