The British Roulette

‘Are your testicles enlarged?’

They say that Londoners love to bitch about the weather and it’s true. But one of the things Russians in London like to discuss is the state of the national health system. The horror stories are usually followed by a simple, general wonderment, as my fellow expats gaze into the grey London sky. “Why can’t it be more like Moscow?”

Last New Year’s, I experienced strange stabbing pains in my lower abdomen. My ex-wife and I had just separated and I was living alone in our Hammersmith apartment. The physical symptoms came in waves. At some points, the pain receded and I could crawl to the bathroom. At others, I felt like climbing the walls using my bare hands.

When the pain became unbearable, I called the medical hotline. The NHS woman on the other end said she had to take me through a “series of questions to assess my situation.” Left entirely at her mercy, I obliged.

“First question,” she said. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” I said, grimly. “I am also in pain. Alone and in pain. You happy?”

“Alright,” she said and I swear I could hear the sadistic pleasure in her voice. A mouse click was followed by, “Are your testicles enlarged?”

“E-excuse me?” I was surprised we got to this point in our conversation so quickly. Not that there was supposed to be such a point.

“Are your testicles larger than normal?” she repeated, with more force this time, like a KGB interrogator.

“Not larger than usual,” I replied, coyly. I half-expected her next question to be, “Could you send us a photo to assess?”