11 December 2006


He was meant to ring between half past three  and five o’clock. We’d been given a time. He’d be ringing to give us the results from the gastroscopy, and we were just to wait by the phone. The doctor was to ring and tell us whether or not Abbe would ever be able to eat food containing gluten. Do you think he did?

Not a sound from the phone. I must have checked the time of day a hundred times but I didn’t dare ring home, didn’t want to keep the line busy. At ten past five my wife rang.
– Did he ring? I asked before she’d even said hello.
– No.

That really ticked me off. “How the hell can they expect you to go around, for an hour and a half, nerves on end, waiting for a f-ing phone call that never comes?! I’ll ring him.”

After a bit of research I managed to get through to the right doctor through the hospital switch board.
– Hello. This is Abbe’s dad. You were meant to call us.
– Yes, ehrm … Let’s see now … ehrm … if I can find the papers …
– I’ll hold.
– Ehrm … I don’t seem to … ehrm … have the results yet.

But for gods sake, they booked the time, shouldn’t they at least have their papers in order?

– No, ehrm … I have no … ehrm … answers.
– Right. Can you find some then, and call me back?
– I don’t think so … ehrm … at least not today.
– Fine. Tomorrow, then.
– Ehrm … I’m kind of busy … ehrm … for the rest of the … ehrm … week. And then … ehrm … I’m on … ehrm … holidays until christmas. We’ll have to … ehrm … book a new … ehrm … time. After Christmas.
– After Christmas?!?
– Yes … ehrm … allright?


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