The Specialist

I called the specialist to get an appointment for Buddy. The receptionist asked me what was wrong with Buddy, as I explained, I teared up unexpectedly. I wasn’t expecting to do that. It just caught me

“Oh, that’s no good,” she said. 

She said she didn’t have a mobile for me, so I gave it to her. I told her the landline she most likely had was not operational any longer.

The woman I needed to speak to was on the phone, so she had to call me back. I waited for an hour and a half, nearly two hours when I called her back. Was that too long for someone in my position to have to wait? I wondered? The woman I needed to speak to answered the phone.

“I had 17 messages to get through,” she said. “I was just writing you an email as we don’t have a phone number for you?”

“But I just gave the receptionist my mobile number.”

This was all starting off well, I thought.

I got an appointment for 9.30am on Friday. Buddy wasn’t to eat in the morning. I might have to leave him with them for tests.