Tuesday, February 23, 2010

the blue chair

Last Sunday I dislocated my left shoulder for the third time. It was only dislocated for a second or two and popped back in on its own when I tensed my muscles out of reflex, but it was still a dislocation and it felt like one after. So after an uncomfortable 'sleep', this morning i decided to go to hospital to see what can be done.
Headphones blaring, arm kept to my side and limping slightly I walked to Mater Dei Emergency room, walked up to the receptionist and gave my ID number in and told him I had a shoulder problem.
Sat down and waited for a maximum of 2 minutes and my name was called followed by the instruction to move to door 1. As i pushed open the door, two nuns came up to me and asked if they could just show the doctor some papers. I let them in, and they did indeed only show the doctor some papers and where out again.
I was asked to wait in a section of the room secluded by a curtain, but as I looked through the curtain i found an elderly man lying down with his shirt off looking a bit lost.
I decide to wait outside.
Anyway, explanation to the doctor about my shoulder and I'm asked to go back to the waiting room and wait for The Doctor to call me.
I sit down on a chair i knew would become my asses worst enemy quickly and pull out a new book.
Half an hour later, a boy and his parents sit in front of me. the boy was in his school tracksuit as he had left from school with an injury. I was curious as he seemed to be in extraordinary pain, with much moaning and wailing and gnashing of teeth, accompanied by complaints about having to wait so long. He hurt his finger. It looked a little swollen but that was it, and I'm sitting there feeling gravity pull on y shoulder and concentrating to keep it in place.
I couldn't help thinking that the boy seriously needed to grow a pair and his parents needed to stop spoiling him with so much attention for a hit to the finger. But who am I to judge? I realized that the school he went to didn't help much. It's hard to grow a pair at St. Martin's, we all know that.
As time dragged on another patient took a seat in the row opposite me. A girl, in her mid-teens, and her mother accompanying her. This girl, kept looking at me. I promise, every time I look up as I turn the page, I catch a glimpse of her looking away quickly. I was intrigued. But this interest was lost soon, why? Her mother and her where dressed exactly the same, hair style and all, besides this they sat and moved in the exact same way. It was like seeing the same person but at different points in their life. I shudder remembering the freaky-ness of it.
The girl pulls out her ipod as on the TV constantly showing TVM a children's program starts singing "the wheels on the bus". I smile broadly reach into my bag and pull out my skullcandies, and let David Crowder drown out the annoying spoilt brat and the children going "round and round, round and round". I had to leave one ear uncovered though, listening out for that glorious "Simon Callus Area 2 please"
The next person that enters my tale, is a local traffic warden. I honestly don't think he has seen his penis in years. He was huge. I don't think Warden uniforms come in any size above XXL cause this guy's clothes where full and bulging in an extremely dangerous way. If the belt gave way it would have taken off the heads of at least three people in the waiting room. This officer of the ticket givers seemed to be going through his mobile phones phonebook, calling everyone he knows and basically repeating the same FRAKKING sentence, "Hey, yeah, we're here, sitting down watching the Maltese channel waiting for them to call us".
When I'm about to let my brain drain out of my ears, a woman walks up to the receptionist shouting and demanding to be seen. She was a young woman not older than 25, but with no real figure, and yet as she leaned against the counter, she displayed her fleecy white thong pulled above her jeans half way up her back. Suddenly my brain wasn't the only thing that wanted to escape my body in a hurry.
As it grew dark outside, my dad arrived to keep me company, after 15 minutes he was asking the receptionist why it was taking so long. Patience is not one of the things I get from him. But his polite questioning did give us a piece of valuable information: there had been an explosion in a firework factory. Great!
Surprisingly enough, maybe half an hour later, I hear my name being called. After 5 hours waiting, 140 pages read, two bottles of CokaCola and more imagined murders than I can count I walked into a room with a doctor, and was done after 2 minutes.
I spent 99.3% of my time waiting.
i spent 15,000% more time waiting then I spent in front of the doctor, who basically just gave me a sling so I rest the joint for a week, and gave a piece of paper to make an appointment with the specialist to see about operating it.
The drive home took longer than the visit did, and I live down a main road from hospital!

Just one more thing.
A special thanks goes out to Christabel who kept me company with her messages during those 18000 seconds. She kept me sane.
Thanks of course go to Jeremy Clarkson for his book, and the alreayd mentioned David Crowder for his latest album.


Julia Alexander said...

that was a good read!
hope you have a speedy recovery :)

Anonymous said...

There is obviously a lot to know about this. I think you made some good points in Features also.