​What do I want for my birthday? Why a hospital CT scan, of course - Susan Morrison

As a big fan of the NHS I am more than happy so celebrate my 65th birthday in the company of one of their handsome machinesAs a big fan of the NHS I am more than happy so celebrate my 65th birthday in the company of one of their handsome machines
As a big fan of the NHS I am more than happy so celebrate my 65th birthday in the company of one of their handsome machines
Well, jings, look at that. It's my 65th birthday. Of course, I am celebrating in style. There should always be a fabulously expensive gift, shouldn’t there?

Something you wouldn’t buy for yourself. And perhaps some bubbly stuff to drink. Well, I’ve scored on both points.

The NHS is giving me a shot on a CT Scanner. And not only that, they’ve thrown in that horrible stuff to drink as well.

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It’s not fizz, but I reckon I can get away with mixing the contrast with some water I’ve put through the Sodastream.

Don’t get me wrong, I am and will remain almost tearfully grateful to the NHS, so if they want to haul me in for a scan on the day I hit the big 6-5, then that is OK by me. I’ll just party in my head.

If I’m really lucky, the waiting room will have that mysterious brand of diluting juice you never see anywhere else and tastes of orange. Not the fruit, just weirdly…orange.

It's reminiscent of those great fruit juices of my childhood, the ones with very large labels on the back to accommodate the sheer number of additives.

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We never noticed, because we were distracted by the garish graphics on the front, some of which today appear mildly racist.

Let’s not forget the honkingly embarrassing and culturally inappropriate brand names. Kia Ora, Um Bongo, anyone?

They listed fruit somewhere in the mix, but I don’t think anyone actually believed them.

Also, they glowed slightly in the dark. Honestly they did. Particularly Tropical Quosh. It was green. No, no idea what fruit it was impersonating.

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Obviously, there is no party like an NHS party, but I don’t think there’s much chance of me turning up to the scanner to find it gift wrapped with a bow around the machine.

I don’t hold out much hope for balloons, either. To be honest, I’m hoping not. The last time they presented me with a balloon, they promptly shoved it up my bahookie. And they’d starved me for 24 hours before it, so that puts the kibosh on any cake.

The way I look at it is this. These days, people don’t buy people my age ‘things’. And why should they?

Seriously, I’ve got things. Loads of things. In fact, so many things, I can’t quite remember what they all are or even what I bought them for.

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There are gadgets and do-hickeys and thingamabobs in every drawer and shelf, mostly primed to fall out on me whenever I am looking for another thing.

It’s safe to say I am thinged up to my eyeballs.

These days, smart people buy their loved ones 'experiences’ for that special gift. Events like afternoon teas, swimming with dolphins and parachute jumps. Not sure about that last one!

Personally, I’d wonder about the thought process behind my significant other choosing an experience for me which involved being strapped to a stranger who then leaps out of a plane.

I bought my husband a week on a narrowboat. Quite the experience. The fact that we came back still married is something of a victory.

So, I am going to treat my afternoon at the Western as a sort of NHS spa day, only with a cannula in my arm.

Sixty-five, eh? I might even see my pension at this rate.

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