At The Doctor's

After leaving work last night, I went to register in a new doctor’s surgery. I was not happy with my old doctor and needed a change.

I walked in to the reception area of the surgery and they give me a form to fill before meeting the nurse who would register me. The clinic was full of waiting people and the seating arrangement was such that any new person walking into the surgery and speaking to reception would have an instant captive audience.

After filling the forms and giving them back to the receptionist I had to wait until she finished answering a phone call. She then looks up at me and passes me an empty bottle and a plastic bag. I looked at both and absent-mindedly asked her what was I supposed to do with them. She gave me a stern look and said ‘the toilet is the second door on your right’. She then went back to arranging some prescriptions and patients’ files. I nervously shuffled my feet and walked towards the first door on the right, but it was locked! I turned around to see if the receptionist was looking at me but she seemed to be lost in the overload of papers on her desk. Beyond her, on the far left, were my captive audience and they were ALL looking at me as I stood there with an empty urine bottle trying to open a locked door. An old Asian lady was giving me a motherly sort of smile and pointing at the door next to the one I was struggling with. I weakly smiled back at her as I felt my way for the right door and quickly slipped in.

Once inside, I remembered that I always empty my bladder just before I leave work and wondered if I had enough urine left to fill that bottle. I knew everyone at reception would be checking it out as soon as I came out of the toilet and I did not want to seem like some sort of sub-human that cannot squeeze out a few trickles to fill such a tiny bottle. To cut a long story short, I failed on the first two attempts. But, on the third attempt, like an OPEC nation that was being shunned by the others because of its dwindling oil supplies, I found new reserves of energy I never knew I had. I could have filled a full box of those tiny bottles.

I didn’t want to come out of that toilet. I knew I was going to be judged by my waiting audience as soon as I stepped out. It suddenly hit me! What if everyone waiting out there had had to go through the same process? What if they did it in less time than me? What if I was being timed by that old Asian lady? I did spend five full minutes in the toilet after all. Would that mean I’d come last?

I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of the night hiding in that toilet. I had to come out and face the music. So, I told myself I needed to be bigger than this petty surgery and judgmental audience. I am going to go out with a sure foot and puffed up chest. If they want to judge me, let them judge me. I am looking down on all of them anyway.

I opened the door and stepped out whilst holding the urine bottle slightly away from my body. I stole a quick glance at my audience and noticed they were all looking at me. All apart from the old Asian lady who was busy looking out of the window. But she soon noticed me and gave me a reassuring smile. I walked over to the receptionist and asked her what I needed to do next. ‘Take a seat, the nurse will call you when she’s ready’ she said. I didn’t wan to take a seat. I preferred having my back to the audience. I didn’t want to turn around and walk towards them with a urine bottle in my hand. But I did.

I took the furthest seat from everyone else and tried to hide my bottle behind my chair. An African man walked in and came to sit beside me. He looked at me, nodded and then looked away. He picked up a newspaper and tried to read it but gave up within two minutes and started using it as some sort of fan. He took his jacket off and undid a couple of buttons on his shirt then sat back breathing heavily. He picked up the newspaper one more time and fanned himself. I knew what he was up to but still ignored him completely. I was in no fit state to have a conversation with anyone. I was carrying a bottle of urine.

‘My sister is diabetic’ I heard him say.
‘Huh’ Said I.
‘My sister. She is diabetic’ he repeated with a smile.
‘hmmm’ Said I.
‘She is younger than me and always had problems with her condition’ He added.
‘Ah’ I said, as if that last comment made lots of sense.
‘She once fainted on a bus and they had to take her to hospital. She almost died’ He said.
‘Sorry to hear that’ I said.
‘She’s not dead’ He said
‘Glad to hear it’ I quickly replied.
‘They say it is hereditary’ he said.
‘What is?’ I asked.
‘Diabetes’ He said.
‘Yes. It probably is’ I said.
‘Does anyone in your family have it?’ He asked.
‘No’ I replied.
‘So you are the first? Sorry about that’ He said as he patted me on the shoulder (luckily not on the side that was carrying the urine bottle).

‘First what?’ I asked. ‘I am not diabetic if that is what you’re asking’.
‘Ha-ha. I am sorry, I don’t know why I thought you were’ He laughed embarrassedly.
I smiled at him and started looking out of the window. He fidgeted about for a bit then slowly started moving his chair away from me. When I turned round to look at him next he avoided making any eye contact. He only kept looking at my bottle!

The nurse called me and I quickly skipped into her room. She had a student nurse with her and both women were fussing over my form.

‘Why did you not answer the part that asks if any member of your family ever had a stroke’ the nurse grimly asked.

‘I did. I circled the word NO’ I said.
‘We don’t circle here we cross. Remember this for next time’ she quietly said then told the student to cross the YES.

‘You didn’t answer the question about the drugs you were on in the past’ she said with one eyebrow raised.

‘Well, err, I never had any serious complaints in the recent past’ I meekly replied
‘But you had some previously?’ she asked.
I was not expecting this sort of interrogation and was not really prepared for it.
‘I had a Peptic Ulcer eight years ago but it is gone now’ I said.
‘Do you remember what sort of drugs you were on then?’ she relentlessly asked.
‘Not really. It was eight years ago after all’ I replied.
She was not happy with a reply and told the student nurse to write in that section the words ‘patient can’t remember’.
She asked me to stand on the scales to be weighed. She told me to stand straight and look ahead. ‘ I always ask them to look ahead when weighing themselves’ she told the student nurse.
Next, this four feet tall nurse had to determine my height. She asked me to stand straight again, moved the loose bit about and measured my height.

‘Five nine and three quarters’ she said to the student nurse. ‘Lets say five ten’ she added.

‘I am six feet tall’ I said.

‘No you are not’ she warmly said.

‘But I am. I have recently checked my height and was six feet all. How could I lose two inches just like that?’ I said.

‘Maybe you did it wrong. You are five nine and three quarters if you want to be exact. Five ten at a push. Lets even say five eleven. But you are not six feet tall. Trust me, I know what I am talking about here’. She argued.

‘Ok’ I said.

She moved across the room and picked up the bottle of urine I gave her earlier. ‘Is this your urine’ she loudly asked.

‘Yes’ I mumbled.

She stuck something in it and called the student nurse to come and look. They both had their back to me as the nurse quietly explained something to her student. They were taking about my P? The thought brought a smile to my face.

The nurse told me that the registration process was over and that I could book an appointment with a doctor within 48 hours. As she was telling me this, she caught the cheeky smile on my face and visibly tensed up!

‘The surgery’s policy is to severely deal with any people that abuse or mistreat our staff. I hope you UNDERSTAND’ she, severely, said.

‘If you’re ill, make an appointment. If it’s urgent, go to A&E. A simple cold or flu is NOT an emergency, do you Understand?’ she madly added.

‘Yes. Yes. I understand’ I mumbled quickly and was ready to shuffle out of the room.
‘It was nice talking to you’ she said with a warm smile on her face ‘Have a good evening’ she added before turning her back on me and starting to explain a few more points to her poor student nurse.


I walked out the room and noticed that most of my old audience were gone. There was only the African man and the old Asian lady left. She smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up. He pretended he didn’t see me.

I am going to book an appointment to see if my new doctor is as mad as everyone else in that place.