ICU Health Examination

You talk to the guy in the hall to get the cup. The one in the lab coat. When you see him, his arms are filled-up (full with clip boards and one long stack of white cups, hugging all inside his elbows), he pulls one cup part-way out for you and then you pinch the rim and hoist it out. It’s the cup that was there at that wedding you were at. That white, thick paper-cup that was waiting in numbers at the table with pink juice and bubbles in it. This cup you have is empty. You know what to do with this cup.
Today is a health examination for all the new students at ICU. If you look into the big room where most of the testing is being done, you see all the stations. They will take your height, your sight, take your pressure, your blood, your hearing, and lastly, Station #9, a woman will wait behind a curtain for you. But for now, you aren’t even okay to get in line yet. You know what this cup is for.
The cup is for the woman at station #1, which is just in front of both bathrooms. You are there, in the full bathroom. Facing the urinal, putting your penis half-way into the cup, you pee a little into the cup. They just want a little! Outside of the bathroom, the line is an accordion of co-ed kids holding open Dixie cups of their own piss. In the front of the line, Lady #1, in a mask and gloves, dips a pH stick down through your pee and lays the stick across the top of the cup. Looking into your cup, it’s obvious that your pee isn’t as dark as the guy who is just ahead of you. You become proud. Your pee is in Lady #1’s hands briefly and she drags the stick through, lays it on top, writes down numbers. (The stick is green, which, universally, is good. Right? Green means go.) You take your form that she has written something on that has your name printed on it and take it to the big room with you, where the other number stations are busy processing the perpetual line through. After having your height taken by this cute machine that comes down from the sky and gently pats you on the top of your head once before climbing back up to its starting point, you are ready for the musical chairs! You’re actually still in line. But now the line is a snaking chair trail where you scoot one or two chairs forward every time someone gets up at the front. At the front, you’re asked to sit down by one of the two people doing the eye check. You look in at little ‘U’s and tell them where the opening is, for instance, up, down, left, or right. For this ‘U,’ you say ‘up.’ If the ‘U’ actually opens the direction that you think you see it open as they get smaller and smaller, you get proud. Next, your blood pressure is taken by a woman in a mask. “When did you eat breakfast?” “I had a little lunch, a little rice” “…When did you have that?” “An hour ago, is that okay? I didn’t know we weren’t supposed to eat anything.” “It’s okay.” There is no winning here, just sitting and being squeezed by this arm thing. Next, a long line again. People have seen this coming. This is the one that hurts. People think about past experiences that they’ve had. Peoples’ eyes are glassy. At the front of this line, two women get blood from your arms with needles. They want three vials of it! Once there, you sit down and they shake the vials in one hand to kindly show you how much. It’s a wrist rotation, not a swinging, not involving the elbow or shoulder, their hands roll back and forth. Your arm is down. Belly up. It’s soon. Something sharp will poke you! Aa--- She is the best you’ve had. She is fantastic. You want to tell people about her. You need to sit down now, with the others who have bandaids, and apply pressure to your hole for 5 minutes. In 2 minutes, they’ll ask for you at #8, across the hall. They’ll get you, bring you across the hall. #8 is the listening thing. Press the button with the rhythm of the quiet beeps. Tch-tch-tch. Tch---tch---tch. You get better as the sounds get a little higher. You get your form back from her after she’s written on it. Your form is almost full of numbers in boxes you cant read the labels for. You don't even have an idea of your own height or weight because you were raised counting inches, feet, lbs. You're clueless! It’s ok. It probably hasn't changed a lot. Your weight. Your height. 145lbs. 5’11’’. The woman behind the curtain labeled #9 calls people in. She’s wearing a mask. You think that she wants to test your genitals, to make you cough. You listen to see if people are coughing in there. You walk in through the curtain when it’s your turn. She asks you questions in English because you didn’t try to act like you could understand Japanese like you did before with the blood pressure woman. With English, she's blessing you like some adorable spirit-woman. She wears a stethoscope. It’s about to happen, something wonderful. The connection proved to be possible between humans that makes your rib cage feel like melting mint. She asks sincerely, closely, behind thin glasses, gazing kindly, through a surgical mask, “May I listen to the sound of your heart?” "...Yes." She softly presses on my chest, through my shirt, on four separate inches of me, listening through those tubes. I feel like peppermint. The corners of my lips are uncontrollable.