IT has been a long time — thankfully — since I set foot in a hospital, several years in fact. So when I needed a check-up and some tests, I was clueless, a complete novice. I decided to go early in the belief that it would be relatively quiet at 9 in the morning. Well I was really mistaken.
Someone had surely misdirected all those people! Surely they didn’t all need medical attention? Some were probably looking for a mall — I tried to reassure myself — or maybe a vegetable vendor or a cake shop. The place was huge and it was teeming with more people than I could ever have imagined. A human wall of men and women, not to mention screaming children, had formed in the corridors. The various waiting rooms were packed (if you’ll forgive the triteness) like sardines. A brigade of nurses and doctors made their way through the chaos — not making eye contact with anyone lest they be asked where the reception desk was. In fact, I propose that they should give a prize to anyone who finds it in under five minutes. It took me more than 10. Little did I realize that the so-called reception area actually looks like the floor of a stock exchange. Well what else can you call a place with men crowded around computers, gesticulating violently, their voices raised in a cacophony and a look of desperation on their faces?
I looked around in amazement, then bemusement. How would I ever make it to the front desk? Luckily, the site of a lone woman standing in helpless confusion is enough to stir those in authority to open a counter just for her. That hurdle crossed, I inquired about a certain doctor — is he in? Yes ma’am — pay SR150 for the privilege of seeing him. I handed over the money and was directed to the clinic. Ha! I think the best solution for this hospital is to give out colored maps — like the ones they give you at some museums and galleries in Europe and the United States — it’s the only way that you’d ever be able to find your way through the maze of corridors. Certainly directions such as: "Past the cafeteria, turn right, go through neurology, then the lab, go around to emergency then make a right and go down the corridor all the way to the end and there it is." I followed those directions and arrived at the door to the men’s toilet!
When I finally located the clinic I was told to take a seat and wait. It’s a blessing that this area of the hospital was relatively quiet — enough for me to regain my breath before the appointment. I looked around at the other occupants of the room — one was a group of women sitting morosely in silence. The other consisted of two women, a maid and a small child who obviously wasn’t feeling well. The crying child was quickly handed over to the maid to fuss over and feed while the two women exchanged pleasantries and looked for all the world as if they were here on a social call! I was expecting at any minute to see them emerge from their abayas, mugs of coffee and donuts.
Finally I saw the doctor and left the clinic, a sheaf of papers in my hand. You guessed it — they wanted more money! The tests paid for, I then attempted to find my way back to the lab. I was becoming an expert, finding it on the first try! The tests done, I walked out of the hospital into the searing heat of the mid-day sun; shaking my head in disbelief at my experience, imagining a trophy with the inscription: "I survived a visit to the hospital."
As for the test — well it’s positive — our family of two will have a new member around May! Now, how do I break the news to my husband?
