Wednesday, March 14, 2007
On Monday, I woke up and felt like going to work. I'm serious! I actually thought that I should just turn up at the office and go through the motions.
Then I went to the toilet, coughed, and threw up a mouthful of blood.
I couldn't believe it and tried again. So I made myself cough, and then I threw up another mouthful of blood.
What a great way to start the day.
On one of the rare days when I actually feel like working, I puke blood. I guess I am not the working type of person.
So I had to go to the doctor's. I really hate going to the doctor's, and today's trip there will reinforce my hatred.
Why do I hate going to the doctor's?
Well, because other than the fact that I have Marfan's Syndrome, scoliosis, a windpipe that bleeds when I think of work, a chronic infatuation with the word 'dodgy' and a compulsive tendency to indulge in procrastination, I am really your average healthy guy.
(My automatic spell-check underlined the word 'dodgy' and suggested 'doggy' instead. I think I prefer the former.)
Anyhow, I went to the polyclinic and got myself registered. The only reason I like a polyclinic is because it is totally free. Due to my National Service status, I am entitled to free health care at all government hospitals and polyclinics. Sounds good, but I still don't believe it's a fair trade for two years of my life.
I got a queue number and an appointment card from the pre-registration booth and waited patiently for the number to appear on the screens. The screens read 19-something-something. My queue ticket said 2111. I glanced around and counted only about 50 others. I think the other 150 must be waiting in some other cool place and forgot about me. They never invite me to cool places.
I waited and waited till my number finally appeared. I trudged up to the counter and the counter-lady asked for my appointment card. I gave her the one I just got from the pre-registration booth. She looked at it, keyed in my NRIC number and glared at me.
'Next time, please remember to bring your own appointment card. It's not your first time here.'
Thanks for reminding me that I'm a regular at the polyclinic, but it's not exactly my fault that your pre-registration people shoved a new appointment card into my hand before I could say 'I already have one', right?
So I tried to bring the matter up to her, but she gave me a piece of paper that stated my doctor's room number and waved me off. I like to think that it was nothing personal.
I went to the waiting gallery and waited. What else can you do in a waiting gallery anyway? So I waited and waited. The screen above the doors informed me in a chirpy way with red LED lights that the waiting time for walk-in cases to see a doctor was '49 minutes'. I was quite comforted and settled into a chair.
Two hours later, I looked up and the same message scrolled happily across the screen.
Another fifty minutes passed by, and my number was finally called. I went into the doctor's room. The nice and friendly doctor told me that it was nothing big. She also informed me that if she vomited blood in the morning, she would freak out totally. Then, she prescribed some flu medicine. Apparently, she thinks that flu medicine will prevent me from puking blood.
She then asked if a one-day MC was fine. My brain screamed 'NOOOOOOOOO!' But all I could muster was a weak 'okay'. Wuss. Even though I am one of the most awesome guy most of the time, I can be a real wuss for some moments. Today happened to be one of my WussyTimes™.
But I think she noted some of my reluctance and offered me a two-day MC. My brain did a triple somersault and punched the air. Physically, I sat still and nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
I caught the bus on my way back home. A young boy sat across me with his mum and started kicking me intermittently. I like to think that it was nothing personal.
Then he reached over to his mum's shopping bag and took out a six-pack of briefs. He flipped it around in his hands and I saw it.
Emblazoned across the crotch area of every brief was a logo of the Power Rangers. With the words 'Wild Force' underneath.
At that very moment, images of his mum in a Rita Repulsa-like costume appeared in my head. In those fleeting pictures, the mum threw a stick down into the ground and exclaimed 'Let my monster GROW!'
And that concludes my entry about my very disturbing trip to the doctor's.
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