Heavenly Beverley : Close Up And Personal

Doctors' waiting rooms are unusual social settings. Consider the dynamics. We sit in a communal space, often not very large, with chairs lined around the walls, looking at each other when we may prefer not to do so. Or consciously avoiding any eye contact whatsoever. Murmured conversations are kept to a minimum, as accusing or surprised looks may fly across the room at a fellow patient breaking the unwritten rule of silence. Which is why I love to chat with Michael as we sit there.

A visit to the quack may be a confronting, uncomfortable or enlightening event. Sometimes all of these at the same time.

Within lifts, where we are crammed together for relatively short periods, the only concern is who to blame for the fart that just slips out. Frequently, nothing is said anyway, as everyone is far too busy gazing at the floor numbers to identify the farter.

Or hairdressers. We are, once more, lined up in chairs. However, whereas going to the doctor may be an unnerving occasion, having our hair done is to be enjoyed. Yes, I have had my fair share of disaster perms and colours in my time, but the overall experience tends to be on of enthusiasm, entertainment and positive expectations.

Even dentists' waiting rooms are different. Most of us are united by fear. A bit like being a member of Robert Scott's Antarctic expedition. We sit there in mutual terror, giving encouraging smiles and engaging in short empathetic conversations. Having said that, our current dentist, the incomparable Vincent, does try to allay my anxiety throughout the appointment and Michael, being my personal foot masseur, does distract me from having a grown man climb inside my mouth.

Anyway, last Tuesday, we trooped off to our general practitioner with our metre-long list of enquiries, referral requests and prescription renewals. We have taken some years to find Stephanie, our current GP and we are delighted to have encountered her. She is a witty, approachable and attractive fifty-something Australian rural doctor so Michael can understand her and I get to enjoy her ensembles of matching shoes and glasses. And she knows her stuff.

We started, as ever, by signing in and sitting in the waiting room. The telly was on, so at least there was already noise instead of deathly silence. I observed the Usual Suspects. A kid brought from school by his Mum, quite a few singles, some even chatting to one another (!) and an elderly lady sitting opposite me with her daughter/carer (?) and her walker.

I briefly gazed at her with a friendly expression on my face. Her demeanour would have curdled milk. Next to her, the female companion was studiously avoiding her and was busily attending to an Item of Utmost Importance on her phone.

I felt some sympathy for the old dear. She was obviously not enjoying her twilight years and was making damned sure that everyone around her was aware of her bitter misery. There are those in the world who chose to be angry and twisted and fortunately, they are fairly easy to identify. Every now and then, I try a friendly smile and a cheery "hello", which always falls flat. However, I refuse to be drawn into the furious darkness and will make eye contact and smile at every opportunity.

Then, our time with Stephanie had come. Prescriptions and referrals were written, advice was given, a new regime discussed and possibly awkward ailments were examined and dismissed as "nothing to worry about". We shared a few stories, engaged in much laughter and left feeling pleasantly relieved and uplifted. Oh, the delights of double appointments when we can talk and draw breath in a much more relaxed atmosphere.

Back to the waiting room to wait for blood tests. The ancient crone was busily sharing her unpleasantness with the practice nurse. I sent a quick look of understanding to the besieged nurse, hoping her ordeal would soon be over.

The blood tests were quick and relatively painless, even though my veins collapsed and refused to come out and play. With a bit of hydration, and the sneaky use of a syringe to extract my reluctant blood, the procedure was over in a couple of minutes and we made our getaway.

I was reminded, yesterday, that not all our senior citizens are like Lady Macbeth. A delightful couple named Stan and Fay made their cheery way into the East End Gallery. Stan is ninety-three and Fay is eighty-nine. Both sprightly and fully cognisant with the world, they were on a jaunt through the Wheatbelt, staying in Bed and Breakfast establishments. Stan and Fay had only just given up caravanning and Stan had stopped riding a motorbike at the age of eighty, due to the pleas of the family. They were determined to continue having a great life and promised to look us up on the internet. Stan's only grumble was that he didn't particularly warm to Facebook!

We will be returning to the waiting room on Wednesday. Michael's sugar levels are a tad wonky and he is in need of a Stern Lecture. Not that Stephanie will deliver such a speech. Instead, she will tell him what's going on, what to do and then have a good laugh about life, the universe and everything.

Stay tuned.