It’s “B,” as in Boy

The only good reason to go to a hospital is to see cute doctors. I made an appointment almost two months ago for a hospital visit and confirmed my 1:30 time slot yesterday. On the phone, the woman said she didn’t see my name on the roster for the following day, so she left me on hold for a minute, then came back on the phone and said that yes, my appointment was at 1:30.

I arrived at the hospital at 1:15 and told the receptionist my name but she didn’t see it on her list. I gave her my social security number, phone number and other relevant information that could possibly help identify my identity. I eventually received a number, number 75, and was asked to take a seat.

I could see the dollars racking up for my parking space as the minutes went by. And…I was afraid I would catch Ebola or something as equally dreadful from the other people in the waiting room. If you can imagine, I was starting to get very frustrated.

My number was called and I talked to another woman and gave her all of my info again. She couldn’t find my name either, but she did end up handing me a bundle of papers that I had to place in the receptionist’s bin. I started reading the book I brought along, a good thing since there were no magazines at all. After about an hour and a half of waiting, I was eventually led to another office.

The third woman told me that since I’ve had my condition for so long and since I was a drop-in, that I couldn’t possibly see a doctor that day since it wasn’t urgent. My voice started to shake and my eyes were welling up with tears as I told her that I booked the appointment a while ago and even confirmed it yesterday. So she quickly looked me up by my name again and figured out the problem. I was entered into their schedule as Audrey Angel. She said, “Those idiots!” referring to her co-workers.

So two out three women couldn’t figure out that Audrey Angel, who was scheduled for a 1:30 appointment was, in fact, Aubrey Andel, who happened to have the exact same social security number, phone number and address as Miss Andel.

I was sent to the waiting room again, after being promised that I would get to see a doctor soon. I spent that time composing myself, so that by the time I was called back again, my eyes wouldn’t be full of tears. Watching the movie Becoming Jane the previous night seemed to have had the same effect on me!

I finally left the place at 4:45, knowing that somebody was really going to try and help me.

My doctor was very attractive and attentive, and quite young, looking several years under 30, so at least that was worth the wait.

I have to return to the hospital on Thursday and then again on Tuesday to meet back up with the cutie, oh, I mean, the doctor.