The Consultant

What time is the appointment? Says Hubby.

"It's either ten to ten or ten past ten", I say.

Being the organised types that we are, we don't seem to be able to lay hands on the appointment letter at 9 a.m. in the morning, so hubby, in his efficient mode, decides that it's best to play safe and get there for ten to ten.

We scrape in by skin of our teeth, register and sit down. The appointment is of course ten past ten, but better to be early than late. The consultant hasn't arrived yet.

At five past ten a little girl and her mother arrive. I recognise them. The little girl has a broken arm, and they were talking to us in casualty on the night of my - and her - injury. We chat. "What time's your appointment?" I ask. "Ten o'clock."

At ten fifteen we see the consultant arrive.

Ten twenty five, the little girl is called in.

Ten forty, hubby goes to enquire when we might be being seen.

Ten forty and three seconds, just as hubby goes to enquire, I am called. Struggle to consulting room with two leg braces (one too big, for the five foot ten person, and the right one), two books, my handbag and crutches. Haven't been using the various bits of paraphernalia for quite a few days now, so have brought them back to the hospital in good Samaritan style.

Ten forty one, Hubby then re finds me and joins me in the consulting room.

Eleven o'clock, no consultant visible. We are feeling a bit impatient.

Eleven ten: Flash of light!

............Mr. Consultant finally makes an appearance.

(When they finally make a film of my blog, he will probably be played by a cool glamorous type of Hollywood actor. The very beautiful, but a little too cool type.)

Wrenches my leg in various directions and causes pain! Declares that the next stage is physiotherapy. Gives us a sheet to take to the cottage hospital in Ross on Wye, discusses the book in Hubby's hand, with hubby, comments, with amusement,that I am wearing a pink leg warmer on my knee, and .........."vroom"! Flash again .........

He's gone.

Eleven twenty we try to dispatch the crutches to Draconian Nurse. We are dispatched down to another department in the depths of the hospital where all such things are kept. We walk past a large cupboard full of crutches. I'm tempted to throw them in there, but we decide to be good sorts and take them back to where they should go...................

So, at eleven thirty, hop along and Hubby eventually find the right department.

We stand and wait..........

Eleven thirty five, we get to talk to someone.

"Are they your crutches then" says the lady at the counter.

"No says Hubby . They are yours. That's why we are returning them to you."

"Put them over there then".

"Don't you want to know where they have come from, so that you can check them back in?" I ask.

She looks confused.

Clearly this is beyond the scope of questioning normally allowed to patients.

Someone else comes to the desk. I explain that I want to return the crutches, and for them to know that I am returning the crutches, so that we are not sent a letter in a few weeks asking for the return of the crutches, or something. By now I am feeling a little flustered. I hand her my letter that the consultant has given me, so that she can see that I am a genuine patient and not just an actress or something, acting on the casualty set. Oh yes, maybe they saw me coming.

Finally dispatch crutches and make our way back to the car.

Get back to the car at quarter to twelve. Drive to Ross on Wye to make an appointment to see the Physio.

Walk in to the hospital. See sensible person immediately. Have appointment organised within two minutes. Will have to wait two weeks for the appointment, but we are so shocked by the efficiency of the cottage hospital that we are bowled over, and don't mind waiting two weeks for the actual appointment....................

Still............. at least we were able to advise the consultant on which book he should read next.