Aguy
05-17-2011, 01:29 AM
I find it odd that hospitals always have that same smell. It’s like they all got together and decided it would be in the hospital’s best interest to have people as nauseated as possible.
I have half the mind to turn on my heel and flee, but a jolt in my spine reminds me I am blocking traffic. All my hopes of retreat were lost as ranks of people started filing in behind me, shoving me to the counter.
“What is the problem sir?” the nurse says half-heartedly.
I consider explaining that this old crone with the spear elbows behind me was my problem. “I uh... don’t feel so great, Miss.”
She thumbs at the Hospital plaque behind her, “You and just about everyone in this room. That includes me. What specifically is wrong with you?”
“Oh.” I blurt out, trying not to take notice of the dull laughter behind me. “I’m sorry, I have some stomach issues.”
“I see. You don’t seem in too much pain,” she says looking me up and down with piercing squinty eyes, “so I’ll just get you to fill out this form, and take a seat in the waiting room. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes ma’am.” I say a little too loudly and briskly seat myself at one of the aging sofas, scowling at the old spear elbowed bat.
*
There were coughing kids, broken arms and legs but mostly the common cold. I suppose these things are worse than my problem. After all, all I have are slightly discomforting stomach pains. I did heed the Doctors orders though, “If the problem continues, come in and we’ll take a look.” Maybe all I need is some Aspirin.
I complete the form in record time. Unfortunately this meant I had nothing else to distract me from the fact I was nowhere near the front of a very long line. Names where continuously being shouted out, followed by people vanishing with Doctors. To pass time, I start making up scenarios for the people around me. This man saved a boy from a flaming wreck, subsequently burning his leg. The woman beside me, nursing her head, got into a fight with a malfunctioning coffee maker. I wonder if anyone was doing the same for me; trying to figure out why I was here, this seemingly healthy individual. I had an urge to stand on the rugged leather couch and explain I had stomach problems. My cheeks redden at the thought.
Persistent scratching annoyed me the most. It sounded like giant, wounded termites grinding away. I found myself glaring at a man across from me, scratching slowly. Maybe their problem is worse than mine, and requires more explanation, I suppose. I couldn’t help but get the feeling that somehow these people were preventing me from entering the Doctor’s office. My stomach wasn’t getting any better and these people were stopping my recovery. Another few were called, followed by more disappearances. It occurred to me then that I had not noticed one single person come from the hospital green curtained off areas, nor did the room get any less populated. An eruption doubled me over, as white knuckled fingernails furrowed into my clipboard.
The air was thick in the waiting room. The thought of crawling into the foetal position was an alarmingly attractive idea. But, ultimately, I was convinced I would lose my place. Or die in my sleep.
Conversations became overwhelming with my eyes closed. People were talking about common, every-day, uninteresting topics. I decide not to pay attention as I worked on not vomiting. I can’t believe these people are the cause of my pain. These entirely uninteresting and dull people, they are wasting time and space here.
A lady had a relatively large cut on her arm, I angrily thought that a mere bandage was all she needed. Two minutes, tops, was all she required from the doctor. Yet she was probably somewhere near the front of the line. Another person called. Why not put her to the back of the line? Surely other people had more pressing issues than her. Me, for instance.
I threw the clipboard onto the leather couch, receiving a couple of questioning glances from other patients. I got up and trudged slowly to the counter, clutching my stomach and glaring at my seat as it was taken.
“Miss, my stomach is getting worse.” I said in my best sick voice. “I need to see the Doctor immediately.”
“I’m sorry Sir. The Doctors, as you can see, are all busy at the moment. Please wait in line.” she shook her hand in gesture to the many people in the room. “There isn’t much I can do.”
I didn’t have the will to keep arguing. I merely stared at the nurse, walking backwards and muttering to myself. I slid into a free chair, slouching and clutching my stomach. One more called. Staring blankly at the yellowing and water stained roof, I came to the conclusion that I would die here, in this very waiting room. The Doctor’s would not get to me in time, and I would die of my ruddy stomach. It all felt so hopeless now, as let my arms drop to my sides, not caring at all for the fire in my belly. I tried to remember all the things I had hoped to do before I die. Nothing could come to mind.
“Make sure you get out. Live a long and happy life. Do everything you want to do!” I said, clutching a woman’s arm beside me. “Don’t let this place be the end of you!”
“Excuse me? I don’t...” she started to say with furrowed brows, before smiling and looking away.
*
I could only hear dull echoes now. The end was close. My vision started to blur and darken when suddenly a strong hand grabbed my shoulder, shaking me slightly, the room got noticeably brighter and sound flooded my ears.
“Are you okay, Sir? It’s your turn. Please, come see me in my office.” a man said.
“Oh.” I murmured, staring blankly and rising from the cheap plastic chair. Barely noticing my stomach didn’t really hurt anymore.
I have half the mind to turn on my heel and flee, but a jolt in my spine reminds me I am blocking traffic. All my hopes of retreat were lost as ranks of people started filing in behind me, shoving me to the counter.
“What is the problem sir?” the nurse says half-heartedly.
I consider explaining that this old crone with the spear elbows behind me was my problem. “I uh... don’t feel so great, Miss.”
She thumbs at the Hospital plaque behind her, “You and just about everyone in this room. That includes me. What specifically is wrong with you?”
“Oh.” I blurt out, trying not to take notice of the dull laughter behind me. “I’m sorry, I have some stomach issues.”
“I see. You don’t seem in too much pain,” she says looking me up and down with piercing squinty eyes, “so I’ll just get you to fill out this form, and take a seat in the waiting room. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes ma’am.” I say a little too loudly and briskly seat myself at one of the aging sofas, scowling at the old spear elbowed bat.
*
There were coughing kids, broken arms and legs but mostly the common cold. I suppose these things are worse than my problem. After all, all I have are slightly discomforting stomach pains. I did heed the Doctors orders though, “If the problem continues, come in and we’ll take a look.” Maybe all I need is some Aspirin.
I complete the form in record time. Unfortunately this meant I had nothing else to distract me from the fact I was nowhere near the front of a very long line. Names where continuously being shouted out, followed by people vanishing with Doctors. To pass time, I start making up scenarios for the people around me. This man saved a boy from a flaming wreck, subsequently burning his leg. The woman beside me, nursing her head, got into a fight with a malfunctioning coffee maker. I wonder if anyone was doing the same for me; trying to figure out why I was here, this seemingly healthy individual. I had an urge to stand on the rugged leather couch and explain I had stomach problems. My cheeks redden at the thought.
Persistent scratching annoyed me the most. It sounded like giant, wounded termites grinding away. I found myself glaring at a man across from me, scratching slowly. Maybe their problem is worse than mine, and requires more explanation, I suppose. I couldn’t help but get the feeling that somehow these people were preventing me from entering the Doctor’s office. My stomach wasn’t getting any better and these people were stopping my recovery. Another few were called, followed by more disappearances. It occurred to me then that I had not noticed one single person come from the hospital green curtained off areas, nor did the room get any less populated. An eruption doubled me over, as white knuckled fingernails furrowed into my clipboard.
The air was thick in the waiting room. The thought of crawling into the foetal position was an alarmingly attractive idea. But, ultimately, I was convinced I would lose my place. Or die in my sleep.
Conversations became overwhelming with my eyes closed. People were talking about common, every-day, uninteresting topics. I decide not to pay attention as I worked on not vomiting. I can’t believe these people are the cause of my pain. These entirely uninteresting and dull people, they are wasting time and space here.
A lady had a relatively large cut on her arm, I angrily thought that a mere bandage was all she needed. Two minutes, tops, was all she required from the doctor. Yet she was probably somewhere near the front of the line. Another person called. Why not put her to the back of the line? Surely other people had more pressing issues than her. Me, for instance.
I threw the clipboard onto the leather couch, receiving a couple of questioning glances from other patients. I got up and trudged slowly to the counter, clutching my stomach and glaring at my seat as it was taken.
“Miss, my stomach is getting worse.” I said in my best sick voice. “I need to see the Doctor immediately.”
“I’m sorry Sir. The Doctors, as you can see, are all busy at the moment. Please wait in line.” she shook her hand in gesture to the many people in the room. “There isn’t much I can do.”
I didn’t have the will to keep arguing. I merely stared at the nurse, walking backwards and muttering to myself. I slid into a free chair, slouching and clutching my stomach. One more called. Staring blankly at the yellowing and water stained roof, I came to the conclusion that I would die here, in this very waiting room. The Doctor’s would not get to me in time, and I would die of my ruddy stomach. It all felt so hopeless now, as let my arms drop to my sides, not caring at all for the fire in my belly. I tried to remember all the things I had hoped to do before I die. Nothing could come to mind.
“Make sure you get out. Live a long and happy life. Do everything you want to do!” I said, clutching a woman’s arm beside me. “Don’t let this place be the end of you!”
“Excuse me? I don’t...” she started to say with furrowed brows, before smiling and looking away.
*
I could only hear dull echoes now. The end was close. My vision started to blur and darken when suddenly a strong hand grabbed my shoulder, shaking me slightly, the room got noticeably brighter and sound flooded my ears.
“Are you okay, Sir? It’s your turn. Please, come see me in my office.” a man said.
“Oh.” I murmured, staring blankly and rising from the cheap plastic chair. Barely noticing my stomach didn’t really hurt anymore.