Going to Hell on a Hospital Gurney

Ok. I’m not dying. Well, technically, we’re all dying I suppose, but I’m not dying any faster than anyone else…whatev.

So my big emergency clinic check was not a big emergency after all. It looks as though my thyroid is acting up a bit, or perhaps not acting up enough; more blood work will tell. Regardless, the knot in my stomach has dissipated, and I’m not worried about having cancer of the everything.

My alarm was set for 7:30 so I’d have time to get up, call the ladies at work to let them know I wouldn’t be in, grab a shower, stuff some food in my face, pop my antibiotic and be the first person in line at the clinic. I was twenty minutes early, but not god damned early enough.

This particular walk-in clinic is actually in the grocery store. I’m not sure about walk-in clinics in other countries, but here in good old Kan-a-dah, it’s pretty much a norm to have clinics in the grocery stores that also have pharmacies.

So I’m walking up to the door, and behind me is this man with a cane, a limp, and a look of “holy fuck my life sucks” on his face. I, with my manners, hold the door open for him.

As I’m doing so, it clicks.

SCHIESSER.

He’s going to the clinic, not to the store to get eggs and peanut butter. Do I rush past him, like a stellar bitch and charge the counter demanding to be first in line?

I wish.

No, because I’m a big, stupid nice person, I then proceed to also hold the clinic door open for him too. So, he was first in line. Which makes me second. You’d think that second in line wouldn’t be such a big deal.

Let’s fast-forward two hours. I’ve now made my way from the waiting room, into an exam room. This in no way means I’m going to see a doctor anytime soon. In fact, this little room should be a step up from the waiting room, but it’s worse. My wi-fi doesn’t work, there are no magazines (not even the dirty, germ-filled magazines), and the only reading material on the wall is about all the different kinds of stomach disease I might potentially have. Hmm, maybe I have polyps? Or rectal cancer! That sounds like a fun one!

Maybe it's an H. pylori peptic ulcer brewing in there!

For the whole two hours, I’ve been sitting, twiddling my thumbs, chewing gum, checking my facebook, doing virtually anything to occupy myself and to stop the hate. The hate in my brain is just stewing, bubbling and splattering away. Why? Why am I so nice? Why do I let that man with the cane get ahead of me? Oh yeah, I’m nice. That’s why. Stupid niceness. BAH! BLARG!

So, in between praying to a god I questionably believe in and thinking about what in the hell is wrong with this man that he would take up over two hours of the doctor’s time, I’ve basically figured I’m probably going to hell, should there be such a place. Here I am, feeling pretty normal except for the hate/worry knot in belly, and in the back of mind, I’m reasonably sure there’s nothing that wrong with me. I do truly feel bad for the very sick man, but that stupid voice in my head just keeps reminding me of how bored I am, and how awfully inconvenienced I am. I am a horrible person, no doubt.

At any rate, I’m kind of hoping that hell will be some purgatory waiting room Ă  la Beetlejuice where I’ll be destined to spend my afterlife. I probably deserve it!

This is what I get for thinking bad thoughts. ETERNAL DAMNATION!

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~ by Andrea on June 5, 2010.

2 Responses to “Going to Hell on a Hospital Gurney”

  1. Glad to hear it’s nothing too bad!

    I enjoyed your story–feeling like I’ve been there! In my really younger days I wouldn’t have let the old guy in front of me. In my younger days I would have let him in and then ranted about how they should have special hours for retirees so they don’t take up facililties when people like me need them (that foes for grocery stores, too). Today I’m convinced that everything good you do comes back to you–that good attracts good. So your good deed may have caused you short term pain but will come back to you–like in the form of a behaving thyroid I hope!

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