The Outpatient

I had a hospital outpatient appointment yesterday. It was my third for the same matter and I refused further treatment and the specialist agreed.

My first visit had me armed with a map and a drawn path. In spite of that in the rabbit warren of the Alfred Hospital, I became lost but not too badly and I eventually found the place to be and was on time. 

I was so confident for my second visit I did not bother with the map and I became totally lost. The hospital volunteer could not steer me in the right direction and nor could staff, mainly because I had the name of where I had to attend wrong. I was in a panic that I would be late, but I wasn't. However the ever so hot specialist Doctor Jordan was.

Surely this time I will get it right, my third visit. I rehearsed in my head that I need to catch the central lift to the fourth floor, turn right and then right again down a long walkway, right again for a short distance and then left. 

As I entered I was temperature checked and asked 20 questions. No, I have not been overseas on holidays bitch face. Yes, my mask is fresh on this morning. I was allowed to pass go.

Next stage another person to check where I was going. Your papers, Sir. Sorry, no papers, just a confirmation text message on my phone. He did not glance at the text message but actually read it, and then slapped on my arm a bright orange visitor sticker.

Up in the lift I went and another person at a temporary desk challenged me, and just as well. You can't walk down this way I'm afraid, even if you have before. This is now a COVID ward. Go back to the ground floor, find the eastern lifts, and then go up to the fourth floor. If you get lost or confused, do ask. All of the staff were so nice and pleasant and quite used to dealing with lost idiots. I found my way easily enough eventually. 

I met up with R two thirds through Fawkner Park on my way home for some food and coffee. The weather had warmed and under my mask I was dripping sweat. It was such a relief to take it off to eat and drink.

R drank his coffee and about halfway through mine, I said, what on earth am I drinking? R had drunk my black coffee, wondering why his coffee tasted a little bitter and I had been drinking his flat white which I realised tasted very milky. 

We really know how to live!