I had to visit the clinic yesterday - a different clinic than we usually go to. Everyone is basically always in a state of illness or recovery while working here, so it's really no big deal and 'willing to expose yourself constantly to communicable diseases and their harsh pharmacological treatment' should be written in to all our job descriptions.
So off we went to this clinic at around 9.30 yesterday morning ("we" because I'm not the only one who is sick at the moment) and waited patiently, trying to stifle our unimpressed expressions as the doctors finally sauntered in to their offices, wearing jeans, flip flops and cradling cups of tea. Perhaps it was their uniform?
I entered and shook my doctor's hand and we chatted about what was wrong.
Then he started filling out a small patient card.
Him: Name?
Me: (I spelled it out for him)
Him: Nice name
Me: Thanks
Him: Age?
Me: Thirty (with a slight cringe that I think I managed to hide)
Him: Married?
Me: (looking across the desk skeptically at his small intake card) Is that on there?
He looked down and kinda blushed.
Me: So are we going to talk more about my diarrhea now?
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