I had a funny experience at the doctor's today, and I really think the internet should hear about it. Because you care about my health and wellbeing, don't you, internet? You do, and I can see you're putting on your interested face as we speak.

I went in to my local GP to get rodded up for the third time. I hadn't seen this particular doctor, but you have to insert the Glory Rod at a particular time in your bleed-ovulate-bleed cycle and Family Planning couldn't fit me in. I asked if he'd done it before, and was assured everything would be fine.

I reckon I'll repeat that. The receptionist said the doctor had done it before and everything would be fine. FORESHADOWED!

I rocked up and discovered that the doctor was, well, old. Really old. He kind of chewed his gums when he wasn't speaking, and cocked his head like a quizzical dog whenever you said something. I don't think he could hear me too well, because he responded to every question with 'marvellous device, Implanon! Fantastic they can come up with these things!'

For most people a half-deaf eighty year old gum chewing GP might raise alarm bells, but it's really not the kind of situation one back out of without looking like a hypochondriac putz. So, with reservation, we settled down to business. I was taken aback when he shot my arm up with anaesthetic without wearing gloves, and even more taken aback when he went through two syringefuls of local, leaving the needle dangling from my bicep in between, but whatever. However, when he went to shove the actual cannula into my arm bare-handed I panicked. 'Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?' I squeaked.

'Yes, yes, I can if you'd like me to.' He chuckled, and rifled through some shelves. He couldn't find any gloves. He asked the receptionist where they were. 'This young lass,' he said, 'would like me to wear them. Apparently my usual wash isn't good enough.'

I shit you not, that's what he said. At this point I called on Nurse Pants, otherwise known Blockhead, who was waiting in the reception. Nurse Pants is, well, a student nurse, and I was keen for someone who knew their shit to raise an appropriate alarm if something went wrong. The second GP in the practice, a man with the pinched features, permanent half-sneer and bum parted hair of a Mormon or paedophile, managed to retrieve sterile gloves for Doc Doddery, so it was time to grit one's teeth and get on with it.

Nurse Pants held my hand as I closed my eyes and thought of happy things. My happy thought of choice is, for reasons I don't entirely understand, walking along the the beach in Newcastle looking at souped-up imported cars full of subwoofers and faux-hawked men. Odd, but it works for me, and it helped me forget the 80 year old with a cannula as thick as a bamboo skewer bent over my supine form. A little pressure, that's okay, Subaru WRX blasting Paul Mac. I can feel something trickle into my armpit, it's fine, the sky is blue and there's salt in the air. Nurse Pants is squeezing my hand rather tightly, all is well, a nut-brown man is peeling off his pink polo - SHARP SHARP SHARP HOT BURNY FUCKSHITPISSWHORE!

'Eeeow...' I whimpered.

'Went a bit far, did I?' He chuckled. Chuckled. I closed my eyes again. Nurse Pants held my hand in a kung-fu grip. 'Oh dear.' He muttered. 'It just doesn't seem to want to stay in.' I looked up. He had the bloody cannula poised over a hole in my arm. Blood spilled freely onto the Levitra-branded paper towel. A blue-black bruise was creeping up my arm.

I shut my eyes again. He finished, eventually, snapped off the glove and pressed his hand over my arm. 'Might need a bit of pressure,' he said. 'I'll put a band aid on later.'

'Do you want some gauze?' Nurse Pants asked.

'No, no, I'm fine.' He said, adjusting his gloveless hand over the open wound. 'You're lucky, I don't think it needs a stitch.'

'Are you going to put on a pressure bandage? It looks pretty bruised.'

'Well, if you'd like one I can throw one on.'

When we left I was in a surprising amount of pain and Nurse Pants was incensed. I didn't see most of what happened, but she said she took out and re-inserted the cannula at least three times. She insisted I make an appointment with another doctor later that day to see if the rod was inserted properly and ask about infection. I now have a prescription for antibiotics and a medical certificate saying I can't work for two days.

I'm a bit perplexed. Nurse Pants thinks we should lodge a complaint, but I can't quite bring myself to complain about such an old, old man. The waiting room was filled with similar old men who all asked for this guy by name.

In conclusion, a lesson is learned, and I have a wicked cool bruise.