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Posts Tagged ‘walkin clinic’

The other day I experienced the oh, so wonderful joys of the walk-in clinic. I resorted to the fabulous experience because I found some crazy ass stuff on my neck that I’d rather not discuss until I get some results because the more I think about it, the more freaked out I become. Anyhoo, so I called my doc’s office, and the entire place is on vacation. Which is fine, except it’s supposed to be one of those offices where you can see any of the other docs if yours isn’t there – and the receptionist’s message to everyone went a little something like this,

‘Ya, so we are all on vacation, and you know, I’ll be, like, checking the messages every now and then, so like, if it’s an emergency, you should probably call 911, Telehealth or go to the hospital or something like that.’

Grrrreat. I wanted to get this junk checked out quickly since I am leaving for Barbados (YAY) on Thursday, and there’s no way want health mumbo jumbo weighing on my mind. So, when all else fails, off to the clinic I go. I went to one that was super close to my work, thinking that even if the wait was long, I could bust it back to work pretty quickly. I got there at 10:15am and after I signed in at the desk, the receptionist gave me a number. Thirty-nine.

Okay, I thought. Thirty-nine. They called out the numbers like in a bakery, except the current number wasn’t up anywhere, so you sort of had to guess which one they were on if you missed it. I looked around the room and could see about 10 people sitting amongst me. The nurse told me the wait would be about an hour. I was cool with that. She came out to call the next number…… Sixteen. Jesus. Sixteen? There’s twenty-three people ahead of me. Shit.

So I sat, and sat, and sat, and sat some more.

I finished the cross word and read some of my book. After about 2 hours boredom really started to hit, and the room constantly filled with more and more sickos. I always feel like someone’s germs are going to waft over my way and infect me when I’m in a doctor’s waiting room. There’s no escaping it really. It’s like those stupid Lysol commercials where they show all the little germ dudes on every thing you touch. I imagine them all having a party and deciding which sucker to cling on to.

I got bored with that too, and started making up stories of all the people waiting. There was the family with the small child who kept screaming – I really felt bad for them, I mean, I could barely entertain myself for four hours in a waiting room, let alone a sick little kid. There was the lady who kept getting yelled at for using her cell phone. Another woman would go and ask the receptionist which number they were on, every five minutes, even though no new numbers were called. There was the dude in the back that was eating with his mouth open so loud that the nurse scolded him for eating where he’s not supposed to. At one point I was convinced that the guy beside me was a brother of someone I know. I decided this from his profile alone. Bored much?

Two more hours later….

Scary nurse-lady (let’s call her Scnurse) popped her head out and shouted the next 4 numbers, ending in…. that’s right… thirty-nine.

Yessssss.

I strolled past all of the jealous onlookers with a little smirk on my face, only to be seated in another small waiting room. Jesus.

So I sat, and sat and sat some more.

Scnurse finally pulled me into one of the rooms and I plopped myself down on the chair.

I sat and I sat and I sat some more….wow, is this a Dr. Seuss rhyme, or what?

I was in there quite a while before the doctor came in, so naturally, I scuffled through all of the stuff in the office. That’s what it’s there for, right? I mean, come on. Don’t leave me in a room for an extreme amount of time and expect me not to touch everything. Not my fault. Not at all. I noticed a sign on the bulletin board advertising a medical clinic taking new patients in my neighbourhood. I made a mental note to make an appointment. I started to drift off, so I glanced around for something to keep me occupied. Would it kill these people to put a damn magazine, paper, poster, painting…anything in the room?

Then it caught my eye. Ah ha! Tongue suppressors are always fun….

As I was concentrating hard on the garage addition of my tongue suppressor popsicle stick house, the doc stormed in and practically blew my little house down. Boooo. All of that hard work and nothing to show for it. He said bla, bla and bla and sent me to get blood tests with Scnurse.

I’ve never had issues with anyone taking my blood or finding my veins as I’m so damn pale, my skin is pretty much see-through. She poked the needle around my arm for a bit and told me that she can’t find any blood. She asked me when the last time I ate or drank anything. I told her,

Well, obviously it was over four hours ago since that’s how long I sat in the waiting room. There are tons of signs in there saying I can’t eat or drink in the waiting room.’

Scnurse told me that I will have to go eat something and get hydrated and then come back.

Ya right. Sure thing, honey, because I don’t have a job or anything to get back to, why not wait another four hours?

I responded,

I am not leaving this chair until you take some blood. Take it from the other arm, my foot, my leg, my ass, whatever, just do it already.’

She hummed and hawed and thought really, really hard about it. I shoved my other arm in her face and yelled at her to just do it. Seriously. I mean, it’s not rocket science. And, her little story about being dehydrated is a load of bull, because I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve had to fast for a blood test. Idiot. Needless to say, she finally managed to figure it out, but I walked out of there with band aids all over both arms.

So now I will wait and wait and wait some more for results – but have already scheduled an appointment for a second opinion because really, I trust no one.

In the meantime, off I go to my most favourite place on earth. Seriously. I can barely contain my excitement. Why Barbados in the summer, you ask? Need I repeat: most. favourite. place. on. earth…. and honestly, it’s better than here, any time of the year.

YAY! Get ready for me Barbados, here I come again….

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