Another appointment at the hospital. The time I spent in hospitals,… well those hours are,… Not nice. I hate the waiting for my turn. I have to wait so many hours in a years, just to go see a doctor, who tells me I need to come back in three months.
A smile is like a precious gift, only reserved for those few special cases. And I really don’t feel like seeing a doctor, who doesn’t give a ……. about me. That’s usually the case. Not always,… but usually.
I go in and walk to the computers that registers me. It used to be people who told me where I needed to go. Now it’s this computer, lines on the floor and a piece of paper with a number. Following the red line, I go up to the back of the hospital and take the elevator there. No nice music in the lift, only a mirror that shows me how terrible I should be feeling. At the corner of the second floor I hand the stickers the computer printed, to the desk lady. She might have an even worse day then I, looking at her face. Then again sitting in this kind of environment. I smile at her, getting a blank face in return. Just as I suspected, no pleasantries. Sitting down in the waiting area I get annoyed already hearing the jingle from the screens on the wall that tell people it their turn and where to go. Yup, hospital improvement they called it. It’s like at a butchers store to me. Except the lady at the store is usually very friendly, saying hello and goodbye, asking about the kids.
I don’t really feel like reading. I wanted to write, but the person next to me is keeping a keen eye on me. I don’t feel comfortable getting out my novel notes. Most people are playing on their smartthingies. A gadget I have not placed in my possessions yet. I don’t have the budget or the need for it. But others from every age category here, seem to be assimilated to the little square thing.
Ah, a familiar face. But she is busy. We went to school together. That was some time we had. No illness then, no doctor appointments waiting on the calendar. A time we went dancing and having fun. Not one of driving around the kids, waiting in hospitals and hoping for work.
Ah, that’s my number, I need to go to room six. Standing up, my coat falls down and before I pick up everything from the ground, my name is called. Missus Claas, Missus Claas. ” Sigh, I’m not telling them I’m not married. I bite back the remarks on my punctuality, while looking at my watch seeing I had an appointment exactly an hour ago.
He looks me up and down and then checks the file. “Well, how the recovery been.” I look at him. “Slow.” Biting my lip. “Yes, it usually is. You’d do better if you lost some weight missus Claas.” I can almost taste the blood on my lip. “Well, I had lost about 8 kilograms before the belly thing.” No answer on that of course. Forbid him telling me I did a good job on that. “I see, the scar looks nice, no pain?” Of course there is pain, have you not just read my file? “Well, yes, there is some pain.” He looks up at my pale and tired face only to come to some kind of conclusion. “Yes, well. That’s not something I can help with. Everything with your belly seems fine.” I sigh deeply. Oh, how I hate hospitals. “Yes, I want to see you again in three months.” “Why?” I ask while he is still writing. He seems to know my question already. “It’s just a normal check up.” He hands me a paper with a day and hour of appointment. “This does not suit me.” I say to him. It’s my sons birthday and I refuse being in a hospital at that date. “Make sure to tell de desk lady that, she will change it if possible.” He stands up showing me the door. “Until next time missus Claas.” Oh, why don’t you just,… It takes another half hour before I can talk to the desk lady and get a different appointment. I follow the red lines out to the front door, pay for parking and head out into a dark evening. “Oh, bugger, I forgot to ask to fill in a paper.” I shake my head walking to my car. And I have to be here again in two weeks for another check up on my heart. “Oh, how I hate hospitals.”