Elb under the weather.....

I am obliged to visit my doctor today with a relatively trivial ailment and discover that it must be Senior Citizen Special Offer day at the surgery.

The place is pulsating with wrinklies, (some with a weaker pulse than others) who regard the waiting room as some kind of social club; the noise level from their nattering is phenomenal, considering how ancient some of them appear to be. Walking frames and canes litter the room, providing a death trap for the unwary, but at least any casualties are in the right place....

(What is the collective term for a lot of Zimmer frames? A clutter? A clutch? Maybe a wobble of Zimmers?)

Elderly ladies regale each other with tales of who didn’t make it through the weekend, punctuated with loud discussions of whatever particularly nasty ailment is afflicting them this week. “How are your haemorrhoids Mavis?” is just one comment that my unwilling ears pick up on. I try to tune out the answer........... Their clucking reminds me of the time I spent as a youngster, collecting eggs in my uncle’s poultry shed, only marginally less interesting.

However, I am cheered a little from my suffering by watching an elderly gentleman attempting to send a text message with his mobile phone. The poor chap can barely hold the thing steady, but peers at it alternately at arms’ length, then at close quarters, squinting over the top of his spectacles. He concentrates hard with tongue poking out, and finally after much stabbing with geriatric fingers, concludes the operation and puts the phone away with evident relief. I am impressed that he has adopted today’s technology, but it seems strange to see these senior citizens with something that is often regarded as belonging to the young, hip and trendy. The only thing “hip” about these gentlefolk is the fact that many have had this joint replaced. I peer round, curious to see if any have embraced technology enough to sport an iPod, but no - all appliances affixed to wrinkly ears are utility beige, denoting hearing aids rather than MP3 players.

I begin to wonder if I’m verging on delirium, as I feel hot, and conversations drift in and out of my consciousness, but I am suddenly brought back to earth by two mothers with toddlers who plonk themselves either side of me and allow their offspring to cough and splutter in my face. As if that wasn’t enough, they each decide to read to their crotchety snotty children from different books, and I receive a stereophonic rendition of “Peter and Jane go Shopping” crossed with “Little Red Riding Hood”.

Rapidly getting to the end of my already-short tether, I am relieved at last when my name is called, and I can enter the doctor’s inner sanctum, a haven of peace amongst the bedlam of the waiting room............................

Now, here I sit at home, medication having been dispensed and commenced, while my lunch sits on my desk, brazenly taunting me: the antibiotics are to be taken an hour before food on an empty stomach, and I was already ravenous before visiting the surgery. The rumbles from my deprived belly are like thunder, and must surely register on the Richter Scale. The clock counts down the minutes until I can satisfy my tum’s urgent demands..........

I hate being ill - I consider it a waste of time. I could be completing projects at work, although I feel sufficiently wretched to warrant a couple of days R & R. Still, the one consolation of being off sick is that I can now do some self-indulgent creative blogging, rather than feel sorry for myself at work, so maybe some good DOES come out of a bad situation.........