In spite of my complete lack of exercise and a diet consisting of chocolate and Ben and Jerry’s, I have been lucky to have always been in good health. On the (very) rare occasion that I need to leave my beige sofa, I enlist the help of Tidy Husband to heave-ho and hoist me up, and I am adamant that none of us need scales in the house, let alone mirrors.

However, I recently joined a new company, and they very kindly offered to pay for me to attend an all day health check. I wasn’t sure if this was because I was the oldest employee they had ever had or they had calculated that my food consumption in the office was higher than my colleagues when spying on me through some secret cameras, but as the day at the clinic included free breakfast and lunch, I decided to go.

I had no idea what to expect but was excited at the prospect of detailed, informative conversations about my aches and pains and why my teeth weren’t as white as I wanted them to be. I was called into the first examination room where a Russian nurse spoke to me in garbled Hebrew and, without warning, sprayed some sort of liquid in my eyes. She handed me a tissue and I stumbled back out into the (now very blurry) waiting area, knocking over a rather expensive looking plant on the way.

Clearly in need of assistance, I was approached by a young nurse who began to explain something about breakages not being included in the cost of the day and could she have the name of my boss. At least I think that’s what she said, because even after 8 years of living here in Israel, people still insist on talking to me in Hebrew, which I don’t speak.

I began to protest that I had been accosted and had some liquid sprayed in my eyes and I was only here for the free breakfast. She could see I was obviously very frail and in need of sustenance and I thought she would point me in the direction of the canteen. However, I deciphered through her use of hand signals that I was expected to have some blood tests first before I could partake in the buffet so I felt my way to another small room to have a variety of needles inserted in my veins.

So far, this was not the relaxing spa day I have envisaged it to be. Where was the sauna and steam room?

Once bloods were taken I was allowed to eat.  This was a place where they make money by telling you how sick you are, but weirdly they only had a selection of healthy foods. (missed out on an opportunity there). There were no pastries or pancakes. It certainly wasn’t an Israeli hotel buffet spread. Highly disappointed and only after an hour there, I decided to return for more tests.

Next, I had to be weighed. As I have no clue what I weigh, the revelation that I am a huge number of kilos in weight came as a surprise. Even though I am aware that I am somewhat overweight, I identify as a skinny, petite girl and ask others to see me that way too.

The next station was a stress test to check my heart. This involved some sort of movement on a treadmill wearing a ridiculous amount of monitors and wires. When asked my weight I declared proudly that I was ‘taysha’ kilos. The nurse appeared confused and gestured that I was a little on the large side to be ‘taysha’. At that point, I realised I had got my Hebrew numbers mucked up and had told her I was the weight of a small dog. I confessed my real weight (a good few kilos more than ‘taysha’) and we laughed all the way to the heart attack unit.

The final stop was the dermatologist. I am used to this test as you can play dot to dot on my body connecting all the moles I have and there are usually no new ones. So I was surprised when the doctor questioned some dark shapes on my butt cheeks.

It turned out they were the remains of my HRT patches.

I left, got on a plane and am now living a new life in New Zealand.