The Waiting Room

At Clinic du Littoral this morning Dr Braguet was running very late.  It was my follow up appointment after my bladder operation in April and my appointment was for 11.00hrs.  There were lots of other people waiting too, some for my consultant and some for the other two consultants whose patients use this waiting room too.

The man in the short-sleeved, pink and white striped shirt scratches his left armpit with his right hand.  His black trousers are too short and expose his thin white socks which are partially covered by black slip-on shoes.

Next to him is a very emaciated woman clutching a wooden walking stick between blue-veined hands.  Her husband who initially sat on her left side was clearly having trouble hearing with his left ear and kept asking her to repeat what she’d just said.  After a few minutes he got up and sat to her right since when their conversation has been easier.  You would think he would have known this before he sat down.  He is a man with extraordinarily small feet, encased in maroon, beige and grey striped socks and brown leather shoes with very detailed cutwork on the part of the shoes after the three lace holes.

However, by far the most interesting person waiting to be seen by a consultant urologist is the man opposite me.  His hair is Van Gogh red, mingled with grey and his beard and moustache are quite long and give an unkempt appearance.  He is slight in build and has black metal-framed glasses with a small, 2-3cm long rocket shaped attachment on the right arm, just before it wraps around his ear, I don’t know what it is for.  His jumper is straw-coloured with a cable pattern and his green checked tweedy jacket has bound cuffs.  His brown trousers are too short but on the right leg the stitching has come adrift and the hem hangs down evenly.  He too sports white socks and new-looking navy trainers with bright yellow and navy striped laces.  Beside him on the bench is a black trilby type hat with a tan leather band and a Prem’Touch carrier bag alongside a small black laptop bag also with tan trim.

We have all waited too long.  It is now 12.02hrs and the lady sitting the corner opposite the entrance who had an appointment for 10.15 hrs has just been called in.  It does not bode well.  People are mumbling and look miserable as it is now the hour of eating and they cannot have lunch.  They keep checking their watches.  I open a funsize Mars bar which I have found in the far reaches of my bag and the emaciated lady comments on how prepared I was.  Lunch and midday are firmly connected here in France and their importance in the structure of the day should not be underestimated.

Only three people now remain who were here on my arrival – a couple who have hardly communicated with each other since I arrived and the red-haired man.  People have begun to doubt their own watches and are asking each other the time whilst pushing their watch-strapped wrists towards the person they’re asking as if in hope that they will say that the time shown on the dial is incorrect.  The mood is low.

The lady previously in the corner with the 10.15hrs appointment returns to the waiting room and her friend.  It is now 12.20hrs – she takes her place again complaining about the hardness of the seats and clutching her lower back with her left heavily ringed hand.  She is dressed mainly in black, shoes, tiered skirt and cardigan which is patterned with cherry sized white spots covering  a white blouse.  Her hair is grey, longer than shoulder length, with the remains of an old frizzy perm.

Her friend has short hair and grey glasses with dark red sides, a very floral orange top covered by a grey felt coat with orange blanket stitching around the collar and pockets.  Her black crop trouser have little straps and buttons below the knee and her ballerina type flesh coloured shoes have a band of bronze plastic across the toes.  She flips the pages of one of the well-worn magazines from the rack appearing not to take in the content.

Ah – my name is called – thank goodness - and just one hour and fifty-five minutes late I am going into see the consultant.

The outcome was good.  The operation is deemed a success and I don’t have to see Dr Braguet again unless I have a problem.  I tell her that she has performed a miracle and that I love her.  She smiles and says that it’s always good to know that a patient is happy.

Three things I like:

1.    The duck breast with new potatoes and salad which I have just eaten for lunch.

2.    The sound of the bubbles of gas in my homemade elderflower champagne glugging through the airlock.

3.    The clear shelf behind me now I have dealt with the paperwork which was building.