Take a chance on me

Dear Mum,

I went to the doctor’s earlier this week. You’re not to worry, Mum. I only went for a check-up. There really is no need to ring me when you’ve read this and insist I describe my current state of health.

A doctor’s waiting room is an excellent advert for keeping in good health because it is a pretty miserable place to hang out in.  Not only do you hear and see some unpleasant corporeal goings-on but everyone looks and clearly feels distinctly awkward.

I was relieved when the overhead tannoy called my name and told me which room to go to.

There I was, a 5”2” graduate opening the door to a boy roughly three inches taller than me, looking at me through his wire-rimmed glasses and grinning proudly to display train tracks darting across his pearly whites.

This was my doctor. My doctor, Mum. 

I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had told me he had been the Milky Bar kid a few years ago.

After the initial shock, and quick mental equations to cross-reference his face with my primary school peers, I sat down for my check-up.

He may have been fresh faced and only recently qualified but he confidently cut straight to the chase by asking me about the routine of my female constitution, as he would ask which of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles my favourite was.

I managed to change the subject while he took my blood pressure and engineered a conversation about uni.

He was, quite simply, charming. He was young but not as young as he looked (train tracks will have that effect on a person) and, as the check-up progressed, I felt more at ease in his company.

I must admit, on leaving, I was slightly ashamed of myself. Just because he didn’t have a beard or a wedding ring didn’t meant that he wasn’t capable as a doctor.

I wondered whether employers would share a similar attitude when I step into an interview room. Would they simply see a petite young woman, who looks younger than she is, and doubt her business acumen?

In last week’s blog I commented that I resent being treated as a weakling because of my sex. I do recognise the fact that I am small and slight means that, perhaps, I am not an ideal candidate for a career as a bodybuilder.

The point that I’ve generally tried to drive home is that I think people, and particularly those older generations, should give more credit where it’s due to those of my sex and my age group.

I’m not saying I’m perfect or that the sections of society I represent are. I simply think we need to be given the opportunity to prove ourselves, just like my doctor.

But next week, Mum, I promise to blog about something a little less socially charged.