The Waiting Room

Last week saw us attend the drop-in clinic at my doctor’s surgery and have to wait for 3 hours for an appointment.  Yes I will say that again, 3 hours.  And that was 3 hours of having to sit in the waiting room for your name to be called.  I had been told the horror stories of how long others have waited – although even the worst story was half the length of time we waited –  so I went prepared with a packed lunch, his sticker book and a few of his toys.  It looked like we were going on a day out rather than off to spend a few hours with the old and the unwell.  The reason for the visit was because Harry had developed a persistent cough.  A cough that got worse at night time and had kept us all awake for the previous few nights.

Because we were inside Harry insisted on taking his shoes off – not something I have instilled in him but it’s not a bad habit to have.  Whilst technically we were outside (i.e. not at home) I decided this was a battle that was just not worth having.  If it kept him quiet then I was prepared to let it go – within reason.  The waiting room was packed – standing room only.  Harry loves an audience and here was a room full of people with no option but to stay put.  We had a lot of stomping, dancing, roaring, and rolling around on the floor (him, not me).  After an hour of “performing” to his captive audience he sat on the floor and devoured his picnic.  He didn’t look or act ill – his cough had even disappeared.  In fact you would swear he thought he was at a toddler group just with a slightly older clientele.

After his self imposed interval break he started up again with a recital of a couple of his favourite stories.  I had to join in at this point and humour him with my best Gruffalo voice – why is it that now that I have seen the film I come out with my best Robbie Coltrane impression? –  and then with the voice (s) of the Three Little Pigs.  The pressure was on as I had a room full of people listening in and I am not a natural performer. He certainly doesn’t get it from me.

When he got bored with my efforts he moved on to attacking the sticker book, sticking them to the chair, to me, and to the buggy.  Much to my relief – and probably to that of the others still trapped in the waiting room – our name was called.  I am not sure who the doctor thought was ill because after very little sleep for a few nights, and 3 hours with no food I looked a little pale and wobbly.

Doctor – “How can I help you”

Harry (lifting up his t-shirt to bare his belly) – “Man, my tummy hurts, rub it better?”

Me – “We are here about his cough”

Harry – “I hurt my bottom on the radio.  Fix it?”

(Harry the night before had been running around naked before bath time and got a little too close to one of the radiators – radio = radiator)

Me – “Again, we are here about his cough”

Within 5 minutes we were clutching a prescription and leaving behind a bemused doctor, a trail of sandwich crumbs, the remains of his sticker book and a room full of relieved patients grateful for the silence.  Harry had what he needed for a good night’s sleep, and what did I have?  You guessed it.  I left with every infectious bug that had been flying around the waiting room – for free.  Lucky me.

Love

Harry’s Honest Mummy x

(PS:  To rub insult in to injury when we got to the Chemist he was on lunch so we had to wait another 20 minutes for our prescription.  In which time Harry managed to destroy a shelf of vases in the charity shop next door trying to reach for a Peppa Pig doctors case – I kid you not!!)