I was reading the latest post by the clever, funny and cranky Mrs Woog this morning, when it sparked a memory.
A memory of my worst waiting room experience ever.
I was at the office of my my OBYGYN in Brisbane, Australia.
He was always running late and racing off to deliver other women's babies. As they do. And I get that.
But one day, I'd been sitting with legs crossed and a bladder filled to bursting (he'd wanted to do a quick ultrasound on the day) for a good two hours, whilst my antsy toddler created havoc in the crowded waiting room, when the good doctor finally emerged and called for 'Bronwyn'.
With that, a woman who had just come in, changed direction, and walked breezily into his office. AAARGH. (I may have screamed that out loud!)
I told the receptionist, she phoned him, but the doctor decided to continue seeing the other Bronwyn since she was already with him. Even though he then had to call for her file - for it was mine that was before him. Delaying my visit further. And with no regard for my bursting bladder and rising blood pressure.
Not only did he still charge full price, in the end the good doctor was not even there to deliver my baby. He was on holidays.
It got me to thinking about horrible waiting room experiences, because to be honest, are any of them ever really nice?
As Mrs Woog points out, most waiting rooms are painted in colours that are supposed to be soothing, but instead resemble the colour of puke, poo, or snot.
Usually, they are filled to capacity with people who are coughing, sneezing, or hacking up all manner of diseased bodily fluids. Or worse.
And all too often they are filled with seriously ill people, rioting children, and those who can least afford it empting their wallets on the way out. (Yes even with the Medicare rebate and/or concession cards.)
On one visit, to my GPs newly refurbished clinic, my child covered myself, himself, his chair and the floor in vomit. I then had to sit reeking of the stinky fluid during my child's consultation, apologising all the time, while the GP joked and said he'd smelled worse. He still refers to Mr 10 as the kid who 'christened' his surgery. To that GP, Mr 10 will forever be the child who sucked a sultana up his nose, but that's another story!
So readers, do you have a waiting room story?
I'll rustle up a prize for the most memorable.
Just share in the comments below ...