A lament by the impatient patients
While sitting in “the waiting room” this afternoon, the familiar lament of the discouraged patient was heard, again and again. When you spend too long, in the queue, you shift from patient to impatient. Not me, of course, but many others.
The urban myth: any given doctor has multiple small rooms, and you get rotated from one to the next, until they send you home. Or the “it used to be better” chorus. Finally, the “I wasn’t ill until I came in here”. All patently false. The real truth is [fill in the blank].
My wait was brief, and I met with a series of health care professionals, in ascending order of relevance. I had a small amount of paper work to complete (pen provided) and now I am scheduling my return for an intervention, about five weeks from now. There will be a small fee ($65) as I have opted for an upgrade in my “take away”. All good, from where I sit.
While planning our supper, in a local restaurant, I checked in the bottom of a seldom used pocket in my parka. Brought out the faded receipt from our last visit to the same place. Date: one year ago. Don’t you dare classify me among the habituals!
We did some shopping, earlier in the afternoon. I chose to stay close by the entrance to the store, drawn to a small (but heavy) kettlebell. No, didn’t buy one, but the thought crossed my mind. Make a dandy dog anchor, or a paperweight on a windy afternoon.
