I'v got it.

I went to the Doctors this morning for my regular check up. He seemed surprised to see me which doesn’t really inspire confidence, He always looks tired and run down, so I usually end up asking him how he feels, suggest he gets some rest and eats properly, perhaps lose a few pounds.

The small talk over he takes blood samples, checks my blood pressure all the usual stuff, this time I had to take in a water sample. Nothing to eat or drink from midnight puts a strain on your mind even when usually you don’t eat or drink anything from midnight. It’s the fact that you cant that gets your goat, so without fail at the stroke of twelve the hunger pangs start and your throat dries up and swallowing is almost impossible.

I put the sample in the fridge whilst I shaved and showered. It went in as clear as a bell, but when I took it out it had undergone a drastic change, no longer a light straw colour it resembled an abandoned glass of old scrumpy cider from the night before. Dirty yellow with half an inch of sediment at the bottom, it had everything but leaves floating on the top.

Too late to do another sample, and anyway I was dehydrated and all peed out, so this Florida swamp water would have to suffice. As it happened its quite normal for that to happen I was told, and not being in the habit of carting bottles of pee around I have to assume he wasn’t lying just to make me feel better. The check up over and having passed with if not exactly flying colours, at least gently fluttering colours he asked if I had any concerns about my health.

As it happens I had, just recently I had been suffering from excruciating cramp that projected me at enormous speed from the confines of my warm duvet to a standing position on my bedroom floor. This could happen at any time of the night, and sometimes only walking up and down my landing for long periods would alleviate the pain. No problem he said with a smirk, I will prescribe some zinc pills that will put a stop to that. Its quite common among men of your age, (I hate that expression) nothing to worry about. “Anything else bothering you?”

“As a matter of fact there is” I looked him in the eye and brought my (Fox the Doctor) plan B into action. “Sometimes in the evening and occasionally in the afternoon, but so far never in the morning, I have had jumpy about legs”. His eyes dropped to my legs for an instant as if expecting them to jump about on cue. I had this mental image of a Russian Cossack arms folded across his chest in the squat position back as strait as a ramrod and upper torso not moving whilst his legs flung themselves about wildly in all directions, as I explained my symptoms.

He looked thought full for a moment as though he were wrestling with an enormous scientific problem that could save mankind from any future pain. “You probably have R.L.S.” My heart sank, R.L.S. oh no, not R.L.S. I’m too young, I haven’t lived, theirs a lifetime of experience waiting for me out there.
“What’s R.L.S.” I asked him not really wanting to know the answer. He began to make out my zinc prescription whilst he explained. Restless legs syndrome, “its very common among men your age,” (There was that expression again) “but usually just a change of diet will correct it. I wouldn’t complain too much” he said, your very active from the waist down for a man of your age. He laughed; I didn’t appreciate the joke, but laughed anyway.

I left the surgery a little perturbed that the upper half of my body was out of sync with the lower half of my body, but armed with the knowledge that I was now the proud owner of a Syndrome. I could face the girls at work who were always whinging about swollen feet, pmt, and girlie flatulence and hold my own with a genuine Syndrome. I wondered if I should limp to emphasise my syndrome, perhaps not, they will get the message when they see me making a will out and I ask them to witness it.