Going to see the quack

I was supposed to go and see the doctor at the end of January. "Come and see me at the end of January", she said. But January came and January went with its joys and sorrows, its nostalgia and anticipation, and I hadn't been to see her.

Now we're getting wafted towards the middle of February. I decided that I had better go soon, but I can't go with the 'flu. Still, I'd have to ring and make an appointment for when I'm better, otherwise we'll be in late February, and that would never do.

"Hi, I'd like an appointment please."

"Is it urgent? What about tomorrow?"

Thinks: Oh help. Will I be up to going tomorrow or will I still be shaky. "Is Thursday possible?"

"Thursday would be with the locum. What's the matter with tomorrow?"

"Well it's just that I have the 'flu."

"Oh well in that case we can fit you in this afternoon."

"Oh no! I'm not coming to the doctor with the 'flu! I'm quite OK drinking lots and taking paracetamol. Tomorrow then."

So tomorrow it was. And now it's today.

After the phone-call I decided to go for a little walk in the afternoon just to get out of the flat and breathe moving air for a while. But instead I went back to bed.

Now I'm sick of the sight of my bed and looking forward to stepping out to see the quack.

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