Thursday, November 30, 2006

An acute case of hypochondria

Felt a cold coming on yesterday. Wake up feeling worse, so I decide to stay in bed. At about 10:30 I get a text from Smile, “What's the matter, are you OK Miss Charlotte? Do you want to see a doctor? I'll call my dad, my mom or my aunt to take you to the hospital”. I send him one back assuring him it's nothing serious and I just needed some rest. The maid brings me some breakfast (rice soup) and a paracetamol. A while later, Grandma comes and feels my forehead and chest, then Pidar and Mair come and tell me they're taking me to hospital. I'm quite sure it's only a cold, but whatever. I suppose there is a possibility it could be something more. Maybe it's tonsillitis – my throat is feeling rather swollen. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

Arrive at the hospital (Yeehah or Yahoo or something... Yanhee, that's it – I was close!), and am given a form to fill out. Then I'm told to wait. Still feeling a little dazed (maybe it's sunstroke – I did get a lot of sun last weekend). I look around me. I feel like I'm in some sort of boy-fantasy land. There doesn't seem to be any official uniform (any colour, as long as it's white), and I'm surrounded by all these hot nurses in short skirts and cheong-sam style minidresses, with proper little paper nurse hats over their flowing black hair. Seriously! No utilitarian hairnets here, thank you very much. And white patent high heel pumps (plimsolls? Pshaw!). Are we quite sure Paw and his crew aren't hiding around the corner somewhere? And every so often a girl in turquoise whizzes past on rollerblades picking up or dropping off document folders. If I were to design a hospital, this would be it.

So after I've been waiting for maybe three minutes I'm called to get weighed and have my blood pressure and temperature taken by one of the hot nurses. And I'm presented with a little registration card – cool!

And then I have to wait again. We sit down. Pidar points out my mosquito bites. Oh no, they think I have malaria or something! A few minutes later I'm called to the consulting room, with the words “flu-like symptoms” echoing through my mind. The Doc asks me about my symptoms and diagnoses common cold. Slightly disappointed I don't have something more interesting after all this fuss. But he makes up for it by prescribing five kinds of medication (five times better) – antibiotics, antihistamines, lozenges, paracetamol, and some tiny yellow pills that just say “for cough”.

As we leave Mair nudges me and whispers coyly “doctor pretty – I like”. She's so adorable.

So we leave the hospital and go for some lunch. I order pat thai, but Pidar tells me it's not suitable (possibly because of a spicy sauce), and orders me something else. It arrives: Soup.

Home. Bed.

Supper. You guessed it.


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