It was a lonely walk through the hospital wings by myself. I’d never been to this particular one, and I stood before all the signs and dutifully took in the directions to the place I needed to be; a medical tourist.
I walked past the ICU waiting room, and there were a few people waiting there, obviously for news of their loved ones. As my heels clicked past, they looked up expectantly, but when they saw I did not wear a white lab coat, or some other symbol of authority, they turned away. I don’t ever want to see those kind of haunted looks again.
Then I walked past the paediatric wing; the double swing doors led through to a jungle-themed corridor. They walls were painted emerald green, with the glimpse of Macaws and other tropical birds through the leaves. It was hideously depressing. I don’t ever want to go in there.
Then I approached where I needed to be: headed towards a place with lots of Yellow and Black signs saying “STAFF ONLY”, “DO NOT ENTER”, and “NUCLEAR MEDICINE –> THIS WAY”. Radiology. As it was a Saturday, the reception area was closed; the shutters, which needed a dire clean, had a sign taped over them which said, “Please, ring the bell ONCE and someone will attend to you.” Someone did attend – after about half an hour.
The test was irony itself. They give you headphones to combat the claustrophobia, but you can’t hear the darn music through them when the MRI machine starts. I nearly didn’t get that far though: when they strapped a hockey-style mask over my face, I nearly did a Wolverine in X-Men, and pull the shit off me, and ran outside, to escape.
After, I was woozy. But I survived. Hurrah!
