The never ending journey we call live – of course I know that it ends, at least this stage, but I am not too sure about what follows, or what was before (Eng.) – this small edition of said journey lead me into a doctor’s office today. A huge facility, not your average family doctor’s one-two-three-room affaire, but a multi-room space with an endless stream of people moving in and out.
I stood at the reception and there were many young women, all tanned and in white trousers, with nicely done make-up and portables. One of the young goddesses finally took care of me and told me to sit down a little in the lounge. Yo. After some minutes a little older goddess (22 ?) called me into another room and asked me questions, some miles away. Then I sat waiting again and people were called in by young goddesses or older goddesses all in white, or were given their images on cds – a bit like on the African Market.
I heard my name called by an elderly man in blue. I stood up and saw that he was a bit smaller than me. When I walked behind him I noticed the squeak of our rubber-soles on the floor, and realised that he looked almost square from behind, as high as wide. He led me through some corridors to “number 2”. It was remarkably silent there and further down I saw a man lying on a stretcher, nicely tucked up in a rug. He opened the door, told me to step in, lock it behind me and “Undress to the belt”. “I’ll come in from the other side.”
I took off my blue military style jumper, the black t-shirt and stood there holding my jeans up by my braces, when he opened the other door and took me in. First of all he snapped something around my hip, “Just for protection. Hm, its lead.” He navigated me to a plate at the wall and told me to stand there (“Turn around”), put my chin into that notch. He said that we’d take two snaps, and he’d tell me what to do : Inhale deeply, keep my breath, breath again.
Then he mumbled “so we have to look for a pneumonia here …” I turned around a bit over my shoulder and said “I was not told about pneumonia. We have to look whether the bad cancer bites me or not.” Firmly he responded “Don’t move. Breath deeply. Keep your breath. Breath again.”
“So the first one we have.” I turned around and for the first time looked into the room, and realised how high the ceilings are. “Spacious. The whole thing.” Turns out that the entire office is inside a former cinema, and before that it was a kind of dancing hall. He put in some metal bars beside the plate I was standing against and told me to grab one of the bars with both hands, and pulled it a bit further up.
“Don’t move. Breath deeply. Keep your breath. Breath again.”
“Dress, take a chair ; you will get your photographs soon.” I shook his hand. The body was still on the stretcher.
It’s not nice to have to sit in a waiting lounge (“Yo.”) while someone processes the pictures of your thorax. I watched an elderly couple, very thin, very caring ; a younger man on crutches ; a man older than me, who was very nervous ; two women seemingly my age or a bit more, who gave the impression that they could kill the next bystander with a single look. The young man on crutches was the first to leave with a healthy “Good bye” ; the thin pair was given a cd with images and went out very fast ; one of the women was called to further paperwork, the other one went into the ct-area ; the small man in blue called my name, handed me a large envelope and said “Looks good, no worries”, before he called the old man’s name “Your photographs. All you need for the operation.” Until I reached the garderobe he had vanished. The reception was empty, all the young goddesses had went into lunch break, what is sad, because I would have liked to know the name of the artist whose works were on the walls, very soothing. Guess I should have asked the square man in blue anyway.
When I came out of the building the thin pair was sitting on the stairs smoking.*
I caught his eye and nodded.
* ends at 04:02