The ‘Freighter Blight’ has really taken hold to the point where I have to get checked out at the hospital to see if they can give me some cream for the rash. I feel tired today at the least exertion, so do very little in the way of activities.
It was Halloween last night and I was not in the mood to open the door to ‘trick–or-treaters’, so I ignored them in curmudgeonly fashion. I could probably have gone trick or treating without any disguise but I didn’t want to scare the neighbours.
Minna sees me at the hospital to look at my skin. The bubble is burst. She is not connected with Count Dracula at all, but is from Finland.
After examining my unsightly rash Dr B and his registrar decide between them what lotion to prescribe. I ask about the next batch of scans due around January. I don’t want to wait three weeks for them!
“Oh yes,” says DR B. “You will have to keep bringing that to our attention.” It is so difficult to have confidence in a team that is so disorganised and has such little communication between colleagues.
I take the prescription to pharmacy, where they make an art form of keeping folks waiting with a system of tickets and extended periods of ceiling watching. I am told it will be at least half an hour before I receive the medication yet there are only two people in front of me. I have now spent an hour at St Mary’s and it is an hour too long. I think hospitals are designed to be frustrating. As I watch the impatient faces around me a man on crutches asks the way to the fracture clinic. I envy him. Two months or so in plaster and he will probably make a full recovery.
On my way home I pop into the supermarket. The checkout girl is chatty.
“And how are you today?” Despite her apparent enthusiasm I know I can’t answer truthfully or the poor lass would wish she’d never asked. Then she launches into grade one monologue mode. I find out how tired she is (mate’s 18th birthday party ‘til late) and all about which programmes won the National awards last night on TV at the Royal Albert Hall. I am bombarded with information on soaps which I’ve never seen. I try to smile and nod in the right places despite urgently wanting her to be quiet. In the end I tell her I saw Coronation Street when it was in black and white. I feel old.
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