Exactly a week ago I was in my local hospital. I’d been having chest tightness (and some other problems) and had been to see my GP that Monday morning. The GP checked me over then said that he was concerned that my heart was beating too quickly (that I was tachycardic – a term that I’d always wondered about in Grey’s Anatomy) and advised me to go straight to the hospital.
I was only in the busy Accident & Emergency waiting room for a few minutes, as my chest/heart issues were prioritised over the old guy with the crutches and other victims of mishap. My heart rate and blood pressure were checked, I was X-Rayed and then my blood was taken. I waited on a trolley bed for a doctor to review my results. I was unprepared for the hours of waiting as I hadn’t brought along a book, so I drifted in and out of sleep until my mum turned up.
In spite of my sickness, I couldn’t help noticing Hot Doctor. He was a good-looking fella, probably in his late twenties. However, I think he probably knew how hot he was as he wasn’t wearing blue scrubs like his colleagues; he wore khaki combat pants and a tight blue top which had sleeves that ended just above a tattoo on his bicep. Though I spied the beginnings of a bald patch near his crown, he was still a hottie, and I hoped that he wasn’t going to me my doctor, as I wasn’t sure that being in his proximity was going to help my misbehaving heart.
Luckily I was seen by a female doctor who said that my heart was beating normally again and all my other results were okay, so I could leave. I was so happy to leave the hospital – there was so much misery and pain in that place – plus I was worried about catching MRSA or something worse.
One thing that struck me was how professional and pleasant the staff were, from the nurses to the porters who took me to and from the X-Ray Unit, and the doctor too. Of course the NHS isn’t perfect, but those at the front line are trying their best to deliver a good service.
Image: Suat Eman / FreeDigitalPhotos.net