Topless running on a treadmill

I studied Psychology at college and remember something called the Milgrim experiment. In a nutshell, it showed a bunch of people “electrocuting” others just because someone in a white coat told them to. They could see they were causing serious pain but cracked on anyway.

I basically thought they were just a load of sadists.

Until I went to the doctors one day and realised that it’s just quite hard to say no to people in white coats, because they’re super intelligent and they know best….right?

Let me explain. So what is following is either abuse, or procedure. I will never know. To my friends it is just a funny story and no emotional support has ever been offered from them, naturally. I would like to point out that I’m absolutely fine, just a little bit emotionally scarred.

A couple of years ago my heart started beating outside of its body. Sounds weird, I know. To those that know me this will just be another ailment where I convince myself I’m dying, but I do have witnesses that could hear my heart beating from across the room. I’d lay on my side and you could literally hear it squelching. Cue my trip to the doctors.

I got referred to a surgery I won’t name, and went with my mum, who waited in the reception area. Off I trotted down the corridor, excited about all the attention I was about to get. LOVES being ill.

Then I get told I need some sort of test. Obviously wasn’t listening to any if the medical terms. The nurse at this point was female so when I was told to remove my tights, knickers and top, it just seemed an inconvenience. I realised I hadn’t shaved my legs (as usually happens ALL winter) and made a mental note to do so that evening, as all manner of wires were attached to me. Easy enough.

Then I got dressed and went to see the doctor in a room down the corridor. He was a proper looking doc, old, grey, stale breath, overgrown grandad eyebrows, you know the guy.

I got asked a few questions and then it was off with my clothes again. Now I’m a super prude as it is, and have a phobia of nakedness so I was instantly reluctant. But I did what was asked anyway.

I removed my tights, my top, and my bra and lay down so he could listen to my heart.

Then it hit me…why is this necessary? I basically lay there making small talk, while praying someone kill me in my head.

You’re naked! You’re naked! You’re naked! You’re naked! Was the basic trail of thought.

Then out came the stethoscope. Gotta be official, that’s proper medical equipment. But no….he puts it in his ears, and on my boob, then also puts his ears on my boob. I remember his caterpillar eyebrows tickling me and thinking why the hell did he put his stethoscope in his ears if he was gonna shove his face in my chest and listen to it there anyway.

But I said nothing. Of course.

A hairdresser once cut the underneath of my hair shorter than the top layer because it looked more split. It was ridiculous. She was a trainee, I was mortified.

But I said nothing. Of course.

I don’t complain when I should, I don’t have it in me. Total wuss.

image

Anyway, back to Doctor Octopus Hands. So then came stage two of my examination….cupping.

At this stage I think I had almost passed out. I was laid on my side as he cupped my boobs, and full on bounced them. No listening to my heartbeat, no recording of notes. Just a “does this hurt?” Ummm no, now please step away from my boob mister!

But I said nothing. Of course.

Then the guy announces he wants me on a treadmill. Ok. No probs. love a run, I’ve got this.

Get dressed for a second time and walk to the treadmill room opposite. Then here we go again!!

Apparently the metal in my bra messes with the equipment so off it comes. Just letting it all hang out, on a treadmill, knowing it’s definitely become something you read in the Daily Mail.

But I said nothing. Of course.

Then up goes the speed, and I’m desperately resisting breaking into a run, so my legs get faster and faster until I look like a cartoon character with a serious breathing condition.

Then it happens. I can resist no more. I’m running. I’m running topless on a fucking treadmill.

I mean, no words.

When I re-joined my mum at reception, I couldn’t believe she was just reading a magazine like nothing had happened.

“Are you ok?” She asked cheerfully.

“Yep.” I snapped, avoiding eye contact with the whole room.

“You had to take your top of didn’t you?” She laughed. Awful how well mums know their children’s deepest fears.

“Ughhhh I’m leaving! You’re so embarrassing!” I shouted.

And we left.

Moral of the story, the Milgrim experiment people weren’t sadists, you just do what you’re told sometimes.

Or maybe I’ve missed the moral of this story entirely by not reporting it!

Either way, as I’ve said, my lovely friends still dine out on my traumatic experience to this day.

Standard me.

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