Everyone from the terminal to the malingerers passed through Westfall waiting room. Magazines to soothe patients lacking patience when appointments overran lay splayed in one corner and a multicoloured child’s toy to foster coordination and curiosity sat in the other. The pale duck egg blue walls accented by succulent vegetable and fruit photography were deliberately chosen to convey calmness and healthy reminders of the five-a-day mantra.
Rocked babies fussed while waiting for boosters, elderly patients lingered to be called by their first name as if they too had regressed to childhood.
Sandra enveloped in the hubbub waited her turn, already running late. Her boss had originally had a semblance of compassion, but these monthly bloods to ensure that her cytotoxic injections weren’t killing her were eating into the 9-5 and his irritation was ostensible.
It didn’t help that Sandra’s veins liked to hide themselves deep on cold days. She had tried everything: hot drinks; gloves and hats; running on the spot to make those thready blue lines rise to the surface but sitting waiting her turn seemed designed to make them burrow down still further. Her arms and the back of her hands were various shades of purple and yellow. Even her boss wouldn’t have been able to insinuate that she was making it up although it didn’t stop his eye rolling when she submitted her next written request for a late start.
“Sandra, would you like to come through?” broke through her reverie.
”I drank two pints of hot water Doctor. Let’s see if you can find the buggers today,” she laughed.
As usual, the doctor’s humour bypass displayed itself as she led Sandra out to the less welcoming room where a tourniquet and needles awaited if her veins were prominent enough to check for kidney and liver function deterioration.
God bless free-at-point-of-use healthcare. In America, on her salary, she’d be in God’s waiting room, not bemoaning the pricks.
Published by Free Flash Fiction 2023
Ellie Ness Writes 