Waiting Room

I called NHS 24. My surgical site is unhappy. It’s sore and warm and my head stings.

They told me to go to the out of hours doctor. So I’m here, in the waiting room.

The mix of ailments and people makes no sense to me.

There’s the guy clutching his stomach and groaning but then as he is leaving more or less skipping out.

The lady mid-mental crisis and is in tears. There is nothing anyone can do to help and she had to wait in a crowded waiting room. Seeing her made me thankful that my medication is currently working well because I know how she feels all too well.

There’s the little baby crying her eyes out because she has colic and another little baby, sitting calmly but has the goopiest of eyes I’ve seen in some time.

Then there’s me – the girl who can’t really hear out her ear because she has an infection and a very red outer ear. I’m sitting quieter than usual as I’ve been waiting a while and all my joints hurt. I’m trying to distract myself by writing this.

Oh! My name is called! Brb!

I’m back!

My doctor was a lovely German lady who asked me about my name origins while she rifled around my ear canal. We exchanged more Germany related stories. Her brother lives in the same small city that my dad and I visited when I was a teenager. I mentioned I was learning German and we had a very basic but successful conversation while she compared my ears and felt my lymph nodes.

She agrees that I have an infection and she’s glad I came to see her. I now have flucloxacillin big enough to be suppositories (they’re not, yes I’m sure). For 10 days and a stern telling off that I should have come as soon as the symptoms started. I just didn’t want to be a hassle.

She left me with a big hug and a “tschüss.” I must say I’ve been pleasantly surprised as my wee anxious brain was imagining the worst case scenario.

So I’m headed home now and fantasising about a nice cup of sweet chai when I get in.

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