One thing about getting older is that you spend more time at the local doctors surgery or, occasionally, a hospital visit. Even if you’re fit and healthy, you can end up needing a check-up now and then. And this is the second time this year I’ve found myself at a local hospital — nothing serious, but I still needed to go in for tests.
I have written before that writers tend to look at the world differently; everything is potentially a story.
That was the case on this visit as well.
My appointment was for two thirty in the afternoon, the letter saying that I should allow for two hours. I arrived at the hospital with thirty minutes to spare and made my way to the department, only to be surprised that the reception was empty. The only person there was seated at the reception desk working away on a computer.
I thought, ‘Lucky me, no one is waiting; I should be in and out in no time.’ I handed in my letter to register that I had arrived. Unfortunately, I soon found out that I was not so lucky after all, as all appointments for that day were to be seen on the first floor.
“Go out this door, turn left and up the stairs. The door directly opposite is where you need to go.” Said the receptionist.
I made my way and, a few minutes later, found myself in a very different reception area. This was a long room, about seventy feet, separated into two seating areas, a reception at each end. The far end for emergencies.
This room was busy. Very busy.
Each seating area had around forty chairs. The emergency area was almost full. For those of us with an appointment, the section was half full. I sat down, expecting to wait a while. I took a seat at the back and watched the world go by. It is at times like these when I regret not taking a book or two with me.
And then I noticed the clock on the wall.
Not a digital clock, but one that you might see in any office twenty or thirty years ago. It was circular and plastic, with an hour and minute hand. It had big numbers from one to twelve, signifying the hours of the day. The kind of wall clock that was very popular at one time, but less so now.
My last hospital appointment, earlier this year, which I wrote about here, had a big flat-screen television in the reception showing the game show Fifteen to One, and a digital clock on the wall. This reception was old-school. Just an old clock surrounded by notice boards.
But the time on the clock was wrong.
It showed the hands pointing to around midday, but I still checked my phone to make sure. No way I was that early; I had checked the time several times on my journey. I knew I was there at the right time. I assumed that the clock had stopped. Maybe the battery had died. Or maybe it was one of those ancient clocks that would wind down and need winding up again.
No, it couldn’t be that old.
But it hadn’t stopped. When I looked a few minutes later, the minute hand had moved on. The clock was two hours slow but it was still ticking. It had lost time. I wondered if any of the staff had noticed it. I expect that in a hospital, the caretakers would deal with it, as the doctors and nurses would be too busy. But losing two hours? That’s strange. It might happen over time, but not suddenly.
The clock might have been losing time for a long time.
I continued my wait, but my thoughts about the clock ended when my name was called for my appointment. I didn’t have long to wait after all. A couple of hours later I left, the clock on the wall now showing the time as two in the afternoon — the time when I first arrived.
Will the hospital clock be reset to the right time? I will only know if I have to go back.
Do I want to go back? Only out of curiosity to see the clock, yes. I can’t think of another reason to want to go back.
Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash
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