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Beam me up Scotty!



Just reading Barefut's blog kind of makes me feel lucky that my journey did not involve practically swimming there, or trying to get through a concrete jungle like Tarzan's bit of fluff -- Jane! (not that I'm suggesting you live in a concrete jungle, or are anyone's bit of fluff) But you kind of know what I mean -- you need an endurance medal dear!


May I ask what Luke Skywalker's relevance was? I mean we have cardboard cut outs at the reception desk but they happen to be real! Actually now you mention it, they do bear resemblance to Artoo - Deetoo or C3PO---- "Name -- Address ---GP! -- uh!" I think they are programmed to be non - comprendo! And then out comes the file! It takes both hands to drag it out of the drawer and with veins protruding from her neck, she slams it on the counter.


I can almost mind read "Ugh, she must be a serial complainer, this is the size of the Domesday Book." Large it may be but that's testament to how many things are wrong with me or how many times I go. Let's face it, who wants the life and times of a hypochondriac female messing up the drawer?


Of course that's how I feel at times. I suppose little things like the common cold are so insignificant these days, but when it gets to the point of complaining about something -- you'd better make sure it's big because nothing comes close to having scleroderma in some respects.


I guess it doesn't matter where you happen to be in the world, if you have a chronic condition, you simply have to travel to receive treatment, unless you are very fortunate and live near a specialist centre! I wonder if they really understand how frustrating it can be to recall patients for menial tests that take a couple of minutes when they know how far they have to travel?


The lengthy wait in a stuffy room full of unfortunate people, who all stare at each other wondering what's wrong with them is enough to put anyone off! I tend to look around for someone worse off than myself and I'm usually not disappointed. There are magazines strewn around the place on all manner of subjects. One I chose was about skydiving -- What? Another was about skiing holidays--- Was someone having a laugh? Then there are the posters which display wonderfully graphic pictures of a full blown Raynaud's attack. I nearly had one by simply looking at it!


Screaming kids, frustrated patients who'd been there since they opened the desk and still unseen by the doctor, nurses dashing to and fro -- I nearly had a hyperactive episode just watching the performance of some individuals. And the groan as you get called in ahead of someone who swears they were there much longer then you -- I can't cope!


I sigh relief to be back on the road home with new appointment in hand and a huge smile on my face. I look so happy that I could be forgiven for having just been given the all clear, which both you and I know is a bit hopeful! Soon I'd be home with not much to report, so much so that my hubby never bothers to ask any more, unless I'm strapped up with something! And then it's the accepted norm, instead of asking what it's for, it's what does it do? That's his enquiring engineer's head, not his sympathetic concerned selfless being.


Ask me about appointments and I will cringe at the thought. My feelings are mutual it seems. Never mind Star Wars -- Beam me up, Scotty -----Star (hospital) Trek!


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