This was inspired by 2 of my most favourite people coping so much better with medical appointments today.
I could leave but I won't go it would be easier I know. (That's All, Genesis)
"You are being ridiculous," Bernie flicked her right ring finger against her thumb landing on Cynthia's leatherette steering wheel in an uneven rhythm.
"No, you are being over-nursie," Paddy argued and then began a bout of unsettling coughing for two consecutive minutes.
"Paddy you are poorly, why can you not just admit it," Bernie sighed.
"I am not poorly, I have a slight tickle, that's all," Paddy protested.
Bernie shook her head and used her icey blue eyes to their best advantage to cut through Paddy's bullshit. "Paddy we need to get out of the car and enter the health centre or we are going to be late and you know how I hate being late. You're appointment is in 5 minutes."
"I didn't make an appointment, let's not waste the NHS's time."
"I did and it is too late to cancel and also unwise. You would be classed as a 'did not attend' and do you know how many DNAs the NHS has to deal with each month?"
"Nope, but I know you are going to tell me, you are getting all Nicola Sturgeon on me again."
"Aw Paddy shut your coupon, you know nothing about politics or the NHS, but if you dinnae get out of this car in an instant pal, you will know what a Glasgow kiss is and I am no Weegie."
Paddy and Bernie walked towards the revolving doors of the health centre, an empty partition was just about to escape them, Bernie grabbed Paddy's hand and pulled him in. The whole mechanism halted and Paddy and Bernie were stuck like two pedestrians crossing on red. All the other compartment personnel glared at them as if they were responsible for the disruption to their intended journey. After a lot of intricate footwork and sashays to the left and the right, the revolving doors responded and Paddy and Bernie fell into the health centre.
Bernie led Paddy up to the check in tablet, "Right all you have to do is enter your surname and date of birth and they know you are here for your appointment."
"Where?" asked Paddy.
"On the touchscreen," She had asked Matron Crane for an hour to get a delusionally sick innkeeper to the doctors, but Bernie was just comprehending why a very wise Phyllis had granted her the morning off.
"Eh?"
"Just enter the details on the screen, like you do when you say goodnight to me Paddy on your phone." Bernie looked around the congested waiting room at the pale, sweaty and regurgitating and those she wanted to check for a pulse.
"Have you got one of those soggy things you keep in a packet?"
"What?"
"So I can wipe the screen, there must be a hundred thousand contagions on this thing."
Bernie baulked, "Just enter your details."
"Not without disinfectant," Paddy cried.
"Yes"
Paddy looked at the face of the stern receptionist in front of him and lost the will to live slightly.
Bernie answered for him, "Patrick Turner to see Dr Enys."
"Why didn't you register your arrival on-screen"
Before Bernie could interject , "My girlfriend didn't have a wet wipe and I don't want to die."
"Take a seat sir."
Paddy had always thought the use of the term 'sir' was a sign of respect, now he was not so sure.
"Paddy you must really get over your fear of the doctors they are only here to help."
A man entered the room and walked before the hopeful, full of vigour, curly blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. A few patients were heard to mumble 'hello' or something, "Who is that twat?" snorted a rather too abundantly mucus troubled Paddy.
"That is your doctor?" explained a very uptight Bernie.
"But he is younger than Tim!" Paddy regurgitated.
An exasperated Bernie emitted in a sense of frustration, "Paddy it is just as well I..."
"You what?"
The digital screen lit up "Patrick Turner: Dr Enys, Room 22."
Bernie did not ask if Paddy wanted her to come in with him. Paddy didn't ask Bernie if she wanted to come in with him. It was just understood.
"Hello Dr Enys, sorry to trouble you" apologized Paddy.
"My God man, you don't look well."