Since Tuesday I have been meaning to call the doctors for a repeat prescription, I have been blaming my memory again for letting me down but when I called this morning and as soon as I heard the voice of the receptionist, my heart sank. There are two or three there but one seems to hog the phone and I really hate talking to her, as she sounds totally as if I am being a complete nuisance and it is my fault that my medication spreads over two pages on the their computer system. Almost everything I ask for is always greeted with a huff of annoyance and a tone that makes you feel you should never have phoned in the first place and if I don’t pronounce it correctly or give her the brand name rather than the generic, well the exasperation levels audibly rise, I wasn’t calling as I just didn’t want to have to deal with her. Every time it is always the same and if I actually ask to talk to my doctor she want’s to know why and acts as if I will be wasting his time, even the fact that I have supplied them with stamps so they can post my prescriptions is just too much for her, I remind them every time as on occasions they forget and just add it to the prescriptions to be collected, another huff passes as I ask her to post them to me and without a good bye just a “Right”, she hangs up. In all the time I have been with my doctor, she has also been a receptionist, nearly 20 years and the attitude is always the same. I have in the past thought about complaining about her but I do the normal thing we British do, I say nothing and don’t rock the boat. I don’t know why we all hate to complain so much and I know we should as things don’t change if we don’t, I know all to well that with out complaints things don’t improve, but still I bit my lip and simply go on as thought it didn’t effect me at all. Normally I would only speak to her once every too months, but she has the act of the most grumpy and rude person in the country so well perfected, you will avoid her as long as you can, I really feel sorry for those she works with. Whilst on the subject of doctors, I heard the reports on the news yesterday about all the terrible things they were finding in doctor surgery’s, I actually had to laugh when they listed maggots as the worst thing they had found so far. Why did I laugh, well it isn’t really that funny, but I know that a dead body was found at my doctors a few years ago. He had come in for an appointment and had gone to the gents where he died, no one noticed that he was missing and no one did a search through to ensure the premises were empty before locking up at night, he wasn’t found until the next day and then it was by another patient. Now on the scale of terrible thing found, I would say that is by far the worse case, one a head receptionist might have been sacked for you would think.
The longer I am living here at my desk the more rubbish I seem to have collected here, there at two large piles of envelopes and paper that either just need sorting through or shredding. The piles are growing to the point that if I just catch them with my sleeve or hand they are now falling over, but still I keep adding more and more to them, never doing the right thing. Somehow just collecting them all up and taking them to the kitchen sorting through and shredding seems to have become something that is just to hard to fit in, it’s madness really as what could be easier. I know it is just one of many small jobs that I see daily and should really try at least to do something about but never actually even start, almost as if I wish they would fix themselves. It seems the longer I live with a mess that I wouldn’t have put up with at all a few years ago, the more I am managing to develop a blind eye to it all. I never thought that someone like myself who would go without sleep just to ensure everything was just so, could ever slip in to accepting mess. I have seen it happen again and again with the elderly, their homes slowly disappearing under piles of papers and dust, but yet they do nothing about it, they just sit there, I never understood how it happened and in many ways I still don’t. It’s almost as if it is just one thing to much to deal with, as though I have no way of doing it, despite the tools all existing. All those things that were once so important have diminished in to just being there, just another part of the world that I can no longer control. I some times think that is the cruellest part of being ill, you loose control of all those things that once meant so much to you. A life time of everything being just so, of rooms that made your heart swell with pride when every you went into them. Of an image in the mirror that looked back at you slim, well groomed and ready to face anything, disappeared just like the control of you physical self. Muscles, nerves and organs that have long since worked correctly, the physical pain, the memory lose and the damage to your brain that crashes all you emotions into a wall when you least expect it, all clear with little thought by anyone. What most miss, never consider or even see, is the lose of all pride, as everything that you took pride in, no longer exists other than as shadows of their former self.
I can see how that alone if you don’t have blinker fixed tight, could simply destroy and crash someone into a depression that comes from the outside not the inner. It sometimes feels as thought it is meant to be something we don’t care about any longer, as thought being ill means we aren’t allowed to have what we have spent our entire lives with. I am still me, I can’t do what I did before but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my world to continue as was, yet the image I keep finding seems to reinforce the image of people who no longer care about those thing, well let me tell you now, I still care passionately about all of if, I just can’t make it happen any longer.