In the middle of the pandemic I opted to go to a private laboratory located as far away from a hospital as possible for my annual battery of blood works which I regularly do in the spirit of hypochondriating. I don’t feel comfortable having my results accessible in the computer system of the hospitals I’m affiliated with–actually nobody in the hospital would care about my results, I just choose to be cloaked in mystery, which is a disadvantageous kaartehan should I be found unconscious and no record is on file. Every time I do my tests I foresee that the results will show the first few signs that will lead to death or debilitation. If I have my way I’d die choking on a giant juicy hamburger.

I peered through the glass window of the laboratory and discovered in glee that there were only two other patients in the waiting area, but to my consternation the girl in the reception was a very friendly pharmaceutical representative who knows me. “DOC! Si Doc oh friend ko to! Akin na yung request hihihi,” she said cheerily.

Weapons of choice

She went through the request… “CBC, chem, HBA1c, liver blood test,” she read out loud. “Hepatitis, PT/PTT, cholesterol, tumor markers… HIV!” The other patients gave each other knowing looks–or I could have just imagined it. In this day and age I would think that HIV testing is already normalized and needs no justification and everyone should do it, but I still noticed furtive looks that, in my hyperactive imagination, seemed to say “another promiscuous beyatch!”

I got very little sleep in the next 24 hours–all I did was refresh the website for the online results. The two seconds of relief as they all came in normal were immediately replaced by: Now, through what other ways could I die?

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