Oh, the adventures of the waiting room.
I finally recognized that I was the recipient of an neverending cold. When I breathed, the exotic sound of some yet to be invented musical instrument softly wafted from my lungs, to the accompaniment of the sweet snores of my aging rabbit hound. My head valiantly struggled to search out the horizontal, when I made any attempt to be at all vertical. My head felt like a pair of 7 1/2 feet shoved into a pair of size six shoes. There were no signs of improvement.
I knew I was in trouble, when as an act of energy saving, my energy, I opted to put a couple of extra blankets on my bed for the cold night; rather than put some logs in the stove downstairs.
When morning arrived, I decided to take myself to the nearby clinic, rather than taking my collection of non life threatening germs to my more distant doctor.
I was clean and brushed my teeth but I am not sure my hair met a comb, and frankly I could have cared less. I parked my car in the lot and passed through the double glass doors into a large, clean waiting room. This room was deceptively uncrowded.
The building had once been a community hospital, a place of pride for the surrounding rural communities. The plaques that honoured the long ago supporters covered a wall - "This room was furnished by the children of King's County", ''In loving memory of my dear Aunt and Uncle, "A Gift from Dr. Killam and his wife of Woodville". This hospital is now a clinic, much appreciated, much needed, much used. No more births, no more life saving operations and hopefully no deaths.
The impressive Valley Regional Hospital, with the bells and whistles of modern medicine is farther down the highway.
Even more impressive than the plaques, are the two very large bronze wall pieces struck with the names of the young men who died in battle when they were called to serve King and Country in the 1914-1918 War, the 1939-1945 War and the Korean War. There are over a hundred names. The names are the same names as those who are waiting their turn to see the doctor. The waits are sometimes long and the care is good. I think "the Boys" would be proud
After registering with my attractive sea themed, Nova Scotia Health Card, I took my seat, sat back and let my head droop. I observed what was going on around me, through a not unpleasant haze. An eleven year old boy wearing his hockey jacket with Goalie proudly embroidered on the sleeve, sat with his attractive, relaxed mother to have his leg, until recently encased in a cast, checked out. A sweet little four year old boy in his Star Wars pj's, jacket and snow boots leaned lovingly against his daddy's girlfriend's shoulder. A somewhat haughty politician tried to keep away from the others, perhaps thinking her germs were somewhat superior to our germs. A blonde bombshell, in her faux fur coat who had likely put in fifty years of hard living kicked the beverage machine. The very elderly, frail, farmer, who was unceremoniously dumped in the room by his equally aged wife was given instructions by her not to come out until the wax was out of his ears. The many small children with earaches, full chests and sore throats waited patiently flopped in their mothers arms. A thirteen year old girl slouched in her chair exuding disdain for everything as only a sick young teen can do.
The reading material was weak, The Joys of Menopause, Fun with the Canada Food Rules, What Does Your Man Know About His Prostate?, How to Cough into Your Arm.
The wait was not short.
Oh well. My turn came. My symptoms were noted, my nose was explored and my face was prodded. Before too long I was off to the drugstore to pick up a miracle cure for tender sinuses. As I drove home, up over the mountain to the shore, I still felt lousy, but also thankful I could feel lousy in this tiny piece of the universe.
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