All Sorted, Good For me

I was up early, perhaps not as early as I normally am, but still early enough to remember the blood test I have to have.

Yesterday, I thought I had an appointment with my specialist when I was having a test and then seeing him, and in the morning I suddenly remembered I was supposed to have a blood test too.

Oh Jasus! Why do I remember these things the morning of my appointment and not a week before? How come? It's just useless then.

So, I rummaged through my pile of papers, you know that pile where all the papers are, so I know where everything is, and I find the pathology slip. Damn it! There it is, in black and white, so to speak. Have blood test at the beginning of July.

Now I am wondering how pissed off my specialist is going to be? You know how long in advance you have to book? I can’t really cancel the appointment two hours before? No, I can't. Is there even any point in going, though? I wondered.

Anyway? What can you do?

So off I go, preparing to be reprimanded for my forgetfulness. I head off listening to the new Rolling Stones song, that I only just found out had been released.

So, I get to the medical reception and I say I am there to see the specialist's name. The reception's expression changes like a mum who doesn't want to disappoint her kid. She says, the specialist isn't working today. 

I repeat the time and date from the conformation text. She just shakes her head. She says, "Maybe you are having a test?"

"Yes," I say. I tell her the test and she confirms the test I am having. 

"Your appointment with the specialist is in two weeks," she says.

"Oh? So it is just the test today."

"Yes," she says.

"Oh, good, that's good," I say. And I smile. 

And she smiles back at me.

I feel relief. "I thought I was going to get into trouble for not having the blood test." Reverting back to son taking to his mother.

"Well," she says. She laughs. "You have time to get the blood test and you won't get into trouble."

I smile again.

And she smiles.

This morning, I am up at 7am. It’s cold. The fire is dead, no red coals.

Milo is meow, meow, meowing, so I feed him.

Then I remember the blood test I have to have at St Vincents, good thing, I think. Get it done, now, go, as it is a starvation test.

So, I get my shit together.

7.12am.  I go to St Vincents for the blood test, knowing they don't start until 7.30am, but I want to be the first in line.

It’s cold walking up Gertrude Street. And still dark.

7.21am. I’m at pathology. I’m there before the lifts have even started working. I didn't know that was even a thing. A guy who looks like Santa Claus in a mask tells me to wait until the red light on the button pad turns green, only then will the lift work. 

It turns green a few minutes later.

7.30am. The long time pathologist comes out replete with washer woman head scarf. She sounds like she once smoked a lot of cigarettes. And she seems a bit uptight for this time of the morning. I guess she is just getting the day started?

She takes the couple who arrived practically last through first.

7.43am. So much for being here first, old smoky seems to be taking everyone else in ahead of me.

It’s hot in here, the usual overheated winter rooms.

And you know you can’t even complain to a service industry worker now a days as they will call it abuse and refuse to serve you, as quick as. (I never hear any of the anti woke brigade complain about that)

7.50am. I’m in. The Indian chick takes my blood.

I’m going to get a raspberry and white chocolate muffin on my way home. Fuck it, I think.

8am. I’m walking home eating my muffin. There’s a few good looking medical workers, young doctors I like to think, arriving in their small sports shorts and singlets, not bad to look at.

I’m listening to Blue and Lonesome by The Rolling Stones.

It is still cold.

There, done, all sorted, I think, ready for [specialist's name] in a few weeks.

These muffins have really shrunk, I think, they used to be much bigger once.