It was the middle of the 3 day week – things were quite gloomy. My GP sent me for a blood test at the local hospital.
It was the first time I had come across this system – on previous occasions something as simple as a blood test had always needed an outpatient appointment, but all I had to do was trot along to the local hospital any day between 10 & 12 with my pink form.
The hospital was in an old Victorian building. Hospital signage was still not intended to be patient friendly, so I asked a passing nurse where to go: second door on the left, she said.
The door opened inwards on one of those narrow twisting wooden staircases, descending to the basement. A handwritten notice pinned to the wall pointed down to PATHOLOGY.
At that stage of my life I still associated pathology only with the forensic dissection of a corpse. I had been directed to the morgue. Surely I was not that ill?
I beat a hasty retreat, & asked someone else. The answer was the same. So, deep breath, heart in mouth, I went down the stairs, not knowing what on earth to expect.
I found about three or four mostly elderly cheerful patients sitting hugger mugger in a small untidy room, waiting their turn with the phlebotomist, who sat at a desk pushed against the far wall.
And not long after I found out that pathology does not necessarily involve death & dissection
It was the first time I had come across this system – on previous occasions something as simple as a blood test had always needed an outpatient appointment, but all I had to do was trot along to the local hospital any day between 10 & 12 with my pink form.
The hospital was in an old Victorian building. Hospital signage was still not intended to be patient friendly, so I asked a passing nurse where to go: second door on the left, she said.
The door opened inwards on one of those narrow twisting wooden staircases, descending to the basement. A handwritten notice pinned to the wall pointed down to PATHOLOGY.
At that stage of my life I still associated pathology only with the forensic dissection of a corpse. I had been directed to the morgue. Surely I was not that ill?
I beat a hasty retreat, & asked someone else. The answer was the same. So, deep breath, heart in mouth, I went down the stairs, not knowing what on earth to expect.
I found about three or four mostly elderly cheerful patients sitting hugger mugger in a small untidy room, waiting their turn with the phlebotomist, who sat at a desk pushed against the far wall.
And not long after I found out that pathology does not necessarily involve death & dissection
