The other day I went to a clinic to get blood drawn as a follow up to my recent brain surgery. It reminded me once again why I don’t like medical clinic waiting rooms. Other than the lady yelling for her hepatitis test, I don’t know what any of these people have. I’d like to say that I don’t want to know, but truthfully I feel it would be in my best interest to know so I can steer clear of any contaminated and potentially hazardous subjects.Just to make sure nobody is comfortable, the room is too small to fit everyone. Every seat is taken and there are people standing in any and all remaining space. So while I patiently wait for my turn, I’ve got people breathing on me in front of my seat and a woman to my left who is coughing up a lung. After an hour of waiting, I’m tempted to pick up a magazine but the last person to read it had a weird rash on his hand. The good news is that by the time I get sick from one of these people, I’ll already have a doctors appointment scheduled to go over my lab results.
1 comment:
I love your blog. Whenever I need a good laugh, I know just where to look. After all, laughter is the best medicine, huh? I took Cade and Cole to the clinic today. I tried out a new one, since I don't love our old one, and the new one was closer. But I think there is no such thing as a good waiting room experience. This clinic had a glass room full of toys and a TV showing Disney videos. But the sign on the door said "Well Children Only," which did not include us. So my unwell children were enlightened by Mad Kids magazines, complete with a "Winnie the Poo" (no 'h' on Pooh) fake-out book cover. But it's still probably better than playing with the toys that only well children have touched. That would be a good reason not to worry about Lysoling them too often...it would take a very diligent front office staff to go to that extreme, and when I got home I realized that although they had taken my insurance information and paperwork, they had forgotten to ask for a copay. A little less than diligent, wouldn't you say? (Also, I had forgotten to offer them one. Oops.) I guess that's what they get for making my kids stare longingly through the glass wall at the forbidden toys, and making us fraternize with the other sickies. Now they're gonna hafta bill me. That'll show 'em.
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