My trip to the hospital was fraught with endless traffic ques and frustrated drivers. I'm sure the wind has something to do with it! It drives everyone to the brink of madness. My school teacher friend once told me that kids go crazy in the school yard when the wind gets up and I think I'm beginning to see her point.
Anyhow, I arrived just in time for my appointment with a red face and worried expression and I had a right to be so.
I sat in the waiting area, observing people walking by. It's never been a pastime of mine to watch people, but I was finding the whole thing quite amusing. This world certainly is full of characters and none more than in an hospital waiting room. I was asked at one point the way to the morgue. Me, know the way to the morgue? I hope not. Anyway I directed them to the desk at the front entrance, seemed perfectly logical to me.
My doctor peeped his head round a white gloss door and shouted my name with a huge smile. I walked into a blue room about the size of a cupboard and sat on a little chair. He jumped on the couch swinging his legs to and fro. His suit was hanging off his frame and looked as though it had been handed down through the generations. Mr Bean came to mind as he began to question the purpose of my visit. I explained that I was refluxing and choking and my rheumatologist was interested in him taking a look at me. He was very thorough and quite marvelous really, joking throughout his examination. He paid me a compliment by remarking that I had a figure most woman of a certain age would pay for although he frowned when he realised that I was much smaller in size than when he performed surgery on me two years ago.
The upshoot of the visit is that I'm having an endoscope just to check how things are getting along. I got away quite lightly in the end and the whole appointment wasn't that bad after all.
Not a single sign of a white coat and I'm back home with a reasonably good outcome.