I'm waiting for Jamie to arrive to drive me to Westbury to see the doctor about my foot. I'm old-fashioned, I know, but it seems strange to me that a doctor's surgery will be open on a Saturday. It makes sense, of course. We don't live in a Monday to Friday world but I'm just a bit slow in keeping up.
It's not my usual doctor and I was told he will just be checking 'how things are going'. I hope that means the dressing can be removed and I can get back to my normal life: showering and so on.
The other thing on my desk to be dealt with is a form entitled 'Medical Fitness to Drive Assessment' and I'll have to deal with that at some stage. It's not because of my advanced age that I have to do this, apparently; it's some medical condition that I suffer from, probably diabetes. The list to be checked includes Blackouts, Epilepsy and Sleep Disorders so I suppose it's worth doing. The trouble is that if I had any of these problems, I might be tempted not to tell anyone in case they took my licence away.
A good thing then that I am a responsible adult but I wonder how many people out there are slipping through the net.
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