I’m getting a physical examination on Thursday. My last one was a long time ago, way before my memory took a permanent vacation. I can’t remember where I’m going when I’m driving, so I’m not surprised that I can’t recall my last real physical. I remember my fake one, though.

It was about six years ago—when I applied for life insurance. The insurance company sent a guy over to our house with a bunch of medical testing equipment. Looking back, I can’t quite believe that I let a complete stranger into my house and then allowed him to extract blood from me. He could have been anyone—a DNA thief, a cat burglar (an unlucky one since we have a dog), or an insurance salesman.

He turned out to be legit, I think. I received a letter from the insurance company approving my application and supplying me with the results of my tests. Knowing insurance companies’ wily ways, I’m pretty sure they hired a real medical tester to weed out the high-risk applicants. Now, if a credit card company sent someone to my house for blood, I’d tell them that they had already tapped that stone, or turnip.

So, six years ago, I had my last physical, if you want to call it that. I did call it that, and even had the insurance company forward the results of my tests to my doctor. When my doctor raised his eyebrows at my unorthodox physical, I pretended not to notice. I just asked him to put the results in my permanent file. He said he would. Who knows if he did? He might not even be a real doctor.

My fake physical got me thinking, though. An enormous percentage of the U.S. population is lacking health insurance. I remember the times when I didn’t have health insurance; I lived in fear that I would develop a fatal illness or fungus nails, and that I wouldn’t know until it was too late. Death I could face. Not being able to wear sandals in the summer, however, would be tragic.

I needn’t have worried, though. I could have applied for life insurance. I would have gotten a free physical and peace of mind, to boot. Those insurance physicals are thorough; they even test for AIDS/HIV.

Of course, if I had gotten bad news, then the peace of mind benefit would have been out the window. But, at least I would have known where I stood. That’s not always a good thing (ignorance being bliss when it’s folly to be wise, and all), but at least I would have had the option to find out how I was—instead of imagining the worst.

And then, after my insurance physical, I could have gone over to the Red Cross and donated some more blood. They give you juice and cookies.