Wednesday, 14 January 2009
I've been speaking to answerphones a lot recently.
I called the clinical nurses and left a message on the first day of my 'period' (fool) on the 5 of Jan.
I called the clinical nurses and left a message the following day to say I was wrong it wasn't a period after all. I felt like a moron.
I called the clinical nurses this Monday (the 12th) a left a message to say: I just wanted to check that there wasn't anything I could do about the non-appearance of my period, especially as I have an appointment scheduled for the 27 of Jan to look at the results of my scan, and I was worried I wouldn't have had a scan by then, and I don't want to have more delays, and could someone please possibly call me.
I'm not very articulate when speaking to answer-phones. I talk too much, babbling on and then apologising for the aforementioned babble.
I know they have banned smoking in UK workplaces but I imagine the answerphone on loudspeaker playing to a staff room of nurses who are drawing on fags and pissing themselves at the increasingly desparate tones of the infertiles who call in.
Today, just for shits and giggles I called a different number to get through to a different set of nurses. And that was when I spoke to Eunice.
Yes, a person.
I think I might love Eunice.
She seemed to care. She asked pertinent questions. She said she'd call me back. She did call me back.
I have a scan booked in for tomorrow morning to see just what is going on in bermuda triangle I call my womb.
Sometimes, just sometimes, my faith in the National Health Service is well and truly restored.