In which, we observe the experience of the walk in clinic...

Friday night...after five days of being ill, I became desperate enough to call a nurse's hot line (at the urging of my sweet and loving husband). After a description of my symptoms, she urged me to see a physician within 24 hours. Thus Saturday morning was planned out. I left the children with said loving husband, and decided to wear jeans (instead of my ultra cute pajama pants- understanding that I may be there for some time, at which point cuteness would not belay the embarrassment of 12:00), but to fore go the makeup....it was 9:30 at a WALK IN CLINIC, for crying out loud.

There was a line all the way to the door when I arrived, thirty minutes after opening. Attempting to be unobtrusive, I considerately stood on the opposite side of the door from the lady with the seven-month old. I suppose it proves my mental and physical state that I didn't even notice the lights go out, much less that I supported myself against the light switch. Nor was I discountenanced when the nurse up at the desk shouted (kindly), "Ma'am, can you turn the lights back on?"

Now that I had been studied by everyone in the clinic, I decided to return the favor:

The 22-year-old using the word "fester" within ten minutes of being there. I thought of Prison- aren't you NOT supposed to ask what people are in for? Apparently, he had a sliver of wood stuck in his back tonsil. He was a large presence, barely fitting into the chair, eager to expound about himself at every possible moment. He boasted of drunken electrocution stories, while wearing his neon yellow vest with his name across the pocket. I will spare readers the excruciating details of his dialogue with the lady possessing the loud laugh.

There was the Father with his teenage son trying to figure out what insurance to charge it on...The boy was primarily listed under his mother and stepfather's policy but HE was the father. I felt sorry for him. To feel the need to justify your position to a nurse who you will never see again must be a sad place.

Once festering-tonsil man was called in, things quieted down for me to observe the parenting of a lady with a baby and a ten-year-old. Rather than tell her son to stop, she just continued to repeat, "I don't want to look" in a whiney-er toned than his "Do you like this car?" as he proceeded to thoroughly scour the auto trader. My favorite thing about this mom: When her pre-verbal baby would reach for her Starbucks cup, she would move it and say, "No. It's mine." Over and over and over.

At about 10:15 the mod squad walked in. Women with their makeup flawlessly applied, in glimmering accoutrement. This girl's hair poof look like she had a tennis ball hidden under it. Ladies, Skinny jeans are for skinny people. If you are average, wearing some that are too tight, you look like Miss Piggy in denim. Cute shoes, though.

A young married couple walked in and proceed to sit and interact with their phones. I assume they were married. He wore a ring...she didn't. But I am hypothesizing that married men don't go to the radiologist with their mistresses on Saturday mornings to peruse the news on their phone. I found his Titleist cap and Carhart jeans to be somewhat at odds though. I guess I just stereotype. What can I say? That's entertainment.

I alone read and followed the sign prohibiting cell phone use. Boy was it boring. Thankfully I was called in to wait for the doctor. He seemed a nice sort, until he set me coughing with the strep test...Of course, he did threaten to yell at someone, if my test had not been processed by the lab after a second request. Bronchitis! All the meds that he wanted to give me were prohibited by little Abigail's needs. He did give me steriods, which the American Association of Pediatrics recently (VERY RECENTLY) said were probably not too bad for infants. After consulting with my Naturopath, I decided yes on the inhaler, no on the Prednisone.

Ah well. It was the only time I got out all week, so I figured I might as well write about it. Have a Healthy day!

Comments

  1. (It's Elly using Tim's google account so I can post a comment)
    Ayayay! I'm glad that after going through all of that you ended up with some type of medicine to help you! I hope you're feeling better Rachel :o)

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  2. What a scintillating acount, my dear Rachel! You deftly (Nancy Drew word) managed to fit in notes on fashion, child-training, health, politics of the AAP, and general not-so-well being of life in one post. I just like you so much. Get well soon. We must get together: the world awaits our observation!

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  3. (Oh and I love the new look!)

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  4. Hysterical! I have lived through variations on this scenario so many times, too. The Puget Sound Hospital ER when Vic and I looked like domestic abuse candidates because we'd been roofing all day but then I fell on the lawnmower and dislocated my jaw... not to mention the weird Friday night at a Seattle emergency veterinary clinic while Coolidge got exploratory surgery to ascertain he had IBD and had not swallowed a string -- but the procession of interesting people and animals that maundered in with the most bizarre stories was well worth the price of admission.

    Anyway, I'm glad you're blogging again so you'll have an outlet -- it does provide a way of getting out, at least in some alternative way. And life is for sharing, whether we can get out or not.

    I have been thinking of you much and often, and drinking scads of green tea to your health. Or I hope so -- it isn't doing much for mine.

    Love you!

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