Posted by sean on December 5, 2018 at 12:48 am in Health with No Comments

I had my second hospital appointment of my annual leave today. While last week, I only had to go round the corner, this morning required a trip all the way to the Bristol Royal Infirmary. Bloody hell…

Upon arrival, I checked myself in with a helpful receptionist, who I managed to confuse by trying to convince that my name was, in fact, Sean and not Jean, as was printed on the appointment letter.

I was shown, along with Jean, to a very busy waiting room. A large whiteboard, with the names of various clinical staff, hung from the wall.

Coloured dots were stuck to the board, presumably to indicate any delays. Green for “Everything is okay”; yellow meaning “You’re going to be waiting a while. Best pick up a That’s Life magazine from the hospital shop”; with red representing “F**k! We’re on fire! An escaped lion is on the loose! Clinic is cancelled”.

I was reassured to see that, despite the vast amount of fellow outpatients occupying the waiting room, all the dots on the whiteboard were green. My confidence that I would be seen and home in time for lunch was shattered, when I realised that yesterday’s date was still written on the board. Surely all these poor patients hadn’t been waiting overnight?

50 minutes later, I was the only patient left. I was just about to switch all the green dots for red, when I was finally summoned into the doctor’s office.

All was going well, until I was asked to list all the medication I have been prescribed. I take so many pills, on a daily basis, that if you were to pick me up and shake me, I would rattle.

Therefore, given the fact I pop rather a lot of pills, I had a tough job in remembering everything I took. Claire was a great help, as we both kept shouting out the names of various drugs, as if we were on a strange edition of The Generation Game.

I escaped the consulting room and the clinic, but not before providing a blood sample. This time, instead of using a needle, my blood was taken by cutting the rear of my earlobe with a scaple. It’s amazing how much you bleed from that area, and gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “wet behind the ears”.

On the way back to the car park, I couldn’t help but enjoy some naughtyness in the hospital elevator. The child (as well as Leeds and Bath City fan) in me, had great fun, as the video below will testify…

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