Can I see?

The doctor will see you now

Threw myself at the mercy of the NHS again with my follow-up appointment to my follow-up appointment. Being the dope I couldn’t find my letter with the time, but I vaguely remembered that it was around 9am so thought I’d head for that time and be right within an hour at least.

Got to the postage sized stamp of a car park and paid £1.70 for my parking allowance, bumped into a guy at the pay and display machine who was complaining about the charges, I guess this is the price of supporting the NHS today. Got to the reception and booked in – the receptionist didn’t give me any indication of the time I should have been there, but then didn’t appear surprised that I had arrived too early.

Took my seat in the waiting room, couldn’t get my usual seat so settled for one near the back so I could watch the comings and goings I’m strangely fascinated with other people. It’s a broad section of women who attend the clinic. There are the grannies talking loudly to each other about who they have bumped into at the Co-op recently. There are a couple of younger women a few heavily pregnant and some with babies in pushchairs I guess there is an antenatal clinic being run somewhere.

One by one people are getting called by the nurses and leaving the room to be replaced by new waiting people so it’s a continual change for scenery. I’ve brought a book but I’m not really able to concentrate, what with the comings and goings. Plus I’m reading a biography of Robbie Williams for want of something better. It’s rubbish as well, don’t get me wrong I think Robbie is brilliant, I love his CDs and I saw him in concert at MK Bowl and he was fantastic. But the book is terrible; I can’t bring myself to care about his manic streak, his paranoia and desire for peace from the paparazzi. I wish I were reading something that would make me look more intellectual. I’m even wearing my glasses for that intelligent look. A lady comes and sits next to me and we make eye contact as I shuffle my things to make room for her. She smiles an acknowledgement, settles down and pulls out some knitting!! I’m transfixed!! I haven’t seen anyone knit since my auntie taught me when I was about 7 years old. Her needles are flying and making that click-click sound that I haven’t heard in years and years. She isn’t how I imagine at traditional knitter. She’s maybe early 40s smartly dressed in a skirt and jacket and long boots, she looks like she should be sat at a desk creating presentations not scarves!!

At 10am the nurse calls me through and I’m taken to another room with more chairs and told to wait a moment. Various people rush by and I spy a couple of women who I’d seen being called from the waiting room before me. I’m trying to concentrate on Robbie’s book, but overhear two nurses discussing my skirt, saying they like it. I’m secretly majorly pleased but I try and concentrate on my book so I don’t give it away that I’m listening. Again I wish I was reading something more intelligent. Twenty minutes later the original nurse returns and calls me through into the consulting room. The Doctor is there, and he apologises for keeping me waiting, only I can’t say anything because, for a start I didn’t even know what time my appointment was supposed to be!! It’s the first time I’ve seen this doctor, although I think he may have carried out my op – although I was under anaesthetic so I don’t recall him, his assistant doctor came to see me beforehand.

Anyways, the real doctor was very pleasant – quite young looking, he talks me through the results of my lasts tests, which were good and says that they will send me for more blood tests in a few weeks. I’m in the room for about 5 mins and I’m packed out again with a slip for my next blood tests.

The nurse ushers me out with some forms and I’m pretty much done! All that waiting for 5 minutes of his time!! I sign myself out at reception and walk back holding the Robbie Williams book carefully so people can’t see what rubbish I’m reading. It’s a hardback so won’t fit in my bag. Get back to my car, and the postage-sized car park is full and overflowing, cars are abandoned on grass verges, or double yellows. I always like to try and search out a car who is looking for a space to tell them that I’m leaving and they can have my spot. The, only advantage of getting to the hospital early is that at least you can find somewhere to park! I get in the car and a black Mondeo spots I’m leaving and stops hovering for my spot. Only now I’m sure that I can’t get enough lock to manoeuvre the Bug out of the space. I feel silly now, and wish they weren’t watching me trying to leave. I give up and end up driving the wrong way out of the car park, as it’s easier to turn right. Everyone gives me filthy looks. I mean it’s bad enough going to a hospital, or visiting someone in hospital without getting involved in car park wars too!

posted by Pixie @ 12:56 PM