Quack quack
I have to go to the doctor next week, to get some jabs and some valium for the trip – one for my general health reasons, the other to save the sanity of everyone else on the flight with me.
I loathe my doctor. Just thinking about him makes me nauseous. He’s made me cry both times I’ve been to see him, and he refuses to either look at me or touch me (thank Christ). I think he hates women. Really. His voice on the phone sounds like a million slugs crawling down the wires. It slithers. My skin is still crawling from making the appointment just now.
Stupidly, once I realised that he was both incompetent and inhuman, I tried to change doctors. I didn’t realise that all the doctors in the Lewisham area (and believe me, I spoke tearfully and desperately to all 40 of them) are full up, and have waiting lists. Mine is one of the few that has spare patient places, and bitter experience has shown me why. What happens to people who can’t get a doctor? Do they spend their lives going to A&E whenever they’ve got a problem?
I’ve become resigned to this man now because I’m pretty healthy, and flatmate has put the house up for sale, so I’ll be moving soon. I’m not really very excited about next week though. I don’t know how he’s going to administer my tetanus shot without coming into physical contact with me. Maybe he’ll ask his grey and downtrodden receptionist to do it. In fact, I think I might prefer that.