I paid another late-night visit to hospital the other day, as it was time to get in a new supply of sleeping pills.
Maiyuu and I 'turned in,' to use that quaint phrase from my parents' generation, about 2am, but I knew I would not sleep, because my pills had run out. Even on nights when I do not take them, I need to know that I have some there at least, for peace of mind.
If I know I still have some on my bedroom table, I can sleep. If I know I have taken the last one, I won't. This is what you call a psychological addiction.
Nothing is worse than having to tramp down the street to see the doctor at 5am, having tossed and turned for hours worrying you will not sleep. To head the problem off, I decided to go to hospital much earlier. Maiyuu and I had just turned off the lights, when I turned them back on again, and told him I was going to get more pills.
'Shall I come with you, for company?' he asked.
'Yes,' I replied.
We walked down the street together...or rather, we navigated a hazardous, broken and poorly-lit footpath, one tottering ahead and the other behind, before making it to hospital without mishap about 10 minutes later.
The foodcart which plays Esan music was sitting outside, as it was last time I visited, but the music player was not yet on. Inside the hospital, two young guys and their girlfriends were in the waiting room. Judging by their dress, they had just been out for the night.
One girl, wearing loose white shorts and a pink spaghetti-strap top, went in to see the doctor. Looking sleepy, her boyfriend rested his head on his arm, and draped it over the next chair. He had a pretty round head, with thick, rich hair.
His friend had a squarish head, with another full head of hair. Both were better-looking than their girlfriends, I thought, but then I am not the best judge.
When the girl came out, Mr Squarish prodded his sleepy friend, and asked for B100, to pay the bill. Then they walked out.
Maiyuu stayed outside while this was going on, preferring to keep it all at a distance.
The nurses and orderlies greeted me warmly. My hospital visits are so regular they are becoming a social event.
The orderly asked me to stand on a weighing machine. 'Ninety-five kilogrammes,' he called out, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Thankfully, the waiting room was now empty but for me and the staff.
Two minutes later, I was called in to see the doctor, a small, pigeon-chested woman who looked uncomfortable behind her desk. I had not seen her before.
However, she was just as perfunctory as the doctor on my last visit. In fact, during the 30 seconds I was there, she only spoke two sentences.
'I will give you what you had last time,' she said, writing a script.
I started to say something about my condition, as I did not want to appear like a drug addict turning up for his supply. She cut me off; she must have heard it all before.
'Your pills will be out soon,' she said.
When I got home, I noticed she had charged me B100 for the 'consultation fee', and B80 for the pills. What consultation? 'Dispensing fee' would be more accurate.
'All they are interested in is money,' said Maiyuu.
True. Just as I can be relied upon to turn up for another supply of pills, so can the doctor be sure he will give them to me.
We supply each other's needs, which we can do quickly and without fuss. Treating the cause of the problem can wait for another day.
Maiyuu and I 'turned in,' to use that quaint phrase from my parents' generation, about 2am, but I knew I would not sleep, because my pills had run out. Even on nights when I do not take them, I need to know that I have some there at least, for peace of mind.
If I know I still have some on my bedroom table, I can sleep. If I know I have taken the last one, I won't. This is what you call a psychological addiction.
Nothing is worse than having to tramp down the street to see the doctor at 5am, having tossed and turned for hours worrying you will not sleep. To head the problem off, I decided to go to hospital much earlier. Maiyuu and I had just turned off the lights, when I turned them back on again, and told him I was going to get more pills.
'Shall I come with you, for company?' he asked.
'Yes,' I replied.
We walked down the street together...or rather, we navigated a hazardous, broken and poorly-lit footpath, one tottering ahead and the other behind, before making it to hospital without mishap about 10 minutes later.
The foodcart which plays Esan music was sitting outside, as it was last time I visited, but the music player was not yet on. Inside the hospital, two young guys and their girlfriends were in the waiting room. Judging by their dress, they had just been out for the night.
One girl, wearing loose white shorts and a pink spaghetti-strap top, went in to see the doctor. Looking sleepy, her boyfriend rested his head on his arm, and draped it over the next chair. He had a pretty round head, with thick, rich hair.
His friend had a squarish head, with another full head of hair. Both were better-looking than their girlfriends, I thought, but then I am not the best judge.
When the girl came out, Mr Squarish prodded his sleepy friend, and asked for B100, to pay the bill. Then they walked out.
Maiyuu stayed outside while this was going on, preferring to keep it all at a distance.
The nurses and orderlies greeted me warmly. My hospital visits are so regular they are becoming a social event.
The orderly asked me to stand on a weighing machine. 'Ninety-five kilogrammes,' he called out, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Thankfully, the waiting room was now empty but for me and the staff.
Two minutes later, I was called in to see the doctor, a small, pigeon-chested woman who looked uncomfortable behind her desk. I had not seen her before.
However, she was just as perfunctory as the doctor on my last visit. In fact, during the 30 seconds I was there, she only spoke two sentences.
'I will give you what you had last time,' she said, writing a script.
I started to say something about my condition, as I did not want to appear like a drug addict turning up for his supply. She cut me off; she must have heard it all before.
'Your pills will be out soon,' she said.
When I got home, I noticed she had charged me B100 for the 'consultation fee', and B80 for the pills. What consultation? 'Dispensing fee' would be more accurate.
'All they are interested in is money,' said Maiyuu.
True. Just as I can be relied upon to turn up for another supply of pills, so can the doctor be sure he will give them to me.
We supply each other's needs, which we can do quickly and without fuss. Treating the cause of the problem can wait for another day.
you are so lucky our hosital here in songkhla charges 100 baht to see doc and a 60 baht sevice charge
ReplyDeletewhen i go to c the doctor
ReplyDeletei need some words to make me feel better.
sometime the doc should have service mind and realize we r forced to pay service fee even though we just met u a sec -*-
mr handsome
A service charge as well as a consultation fee? Wow! I received a service of sorts, but the doctor hardly offered any advice.
ReplyDeleteAnd Mr Handsome, I agree, a few words of comfort might have been nice, even if we both knew they would not do much good, and that I would come back for more pills in just a couple of weeks.
She could have at least pretended she was treating me, instead of just writing out a script so she could take my money.