Heart attack

My Heart Attack

I'm new at this. Well, there's a first time for everything, I suppose. At one time the very thought of a computer would bring me o...

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Spring Has Sprung . . .But Reluctantly

Well, the weather is a good deal milder, but only just. We have seen SOME sun over the past few days, but even now it seems very reluctant to make a decent appearance.

I had to go the the audiology department at Milton Keynes Hospital this morning, and there is a definite tinge of green all along the Redway as I walked there. I have a problem with my hearing and my doctor has put me on antibiotics (a five-day course which has now finished.) and he suggested I go to the audiology department to get them to do a hearing test. It's another of those 'walk-in' systems of appointments, such as is utilised at the hand clinic which Carol went to the other week. You have to turn up between 9-12 on a Wednesday (this is the only day they are open.) and then fill in a form on a clipboard and you are given a number, and then sit and wait in the most depressing corridor until you and several other poor souls are ushered into the next area to wait. I was number 6, and, to be honest, the wait wasn't too long. Why are N.H.S. waiting areas so depressing? Stuck in a sort of 1950's timewarp.  They could make some sort of attempt to liven things up a bit, a lick of paint or something. I don't know, it surely wouldn't be too difficult. Even a coffee machine might be  an improvement. Oh no, on second thoughts, the thought of coffee out of a coffee machine doesn't sound too enticing. A pile of out-of-date magazines to read and a few official looking posters. A sign up reads 'please be quiet. Hearing test in progress.' A door opposite with a label on it which reads 'Community Psychiatric Nurse.' Someone comes out, followed by a youth looking sheepish. I just wonder what he's done to need  a psychiatric nurse. Nobody speaks. People come and go. A lady comes out and another person in the queue disappears. Then it's my turn. This lady peers into my ear with a gadget with a light on it. I wonder, can she see the light of day right through my head?  Nothing particularly serious, but she writes something for me to take to my doctor's, so I'll have to make yet another appointment. Then I leave. That's it. I walk home and take the letter which isn't even given an envelope to put it in, which might make it seem more official than perhaps it deserves to be.
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