Dear doctors surgery..

Hi there. Aly here. Just thought I'd write you a small letter, expressing my love-hate relationship with you right now. I hope you enjoy!

We've had quite a past together, doctors surgery. Why, did you know that you are the first surgery I ever went to? That's right! When we moved to this lovely neighbourhood when I was but a toddler, there you were - your doors flung open in welcome and we knew, we just knew, this was the local GP for us. My lovely Dr C is still there, she has barely aged a day too. It is rather creepy now that I mention it, but you know, I won't get into that right now.

While I don't remember back that far, I do remember the lollipops. Ahh, the lollipops. What better way to bribe young children into sitting still and either a)getting needles or b)watching other people get needles or c)running around the room hiding from the thought of needles. Dear doctors surgery, is it you and your lollipops to blame that I have many, many cavities and a rather large fear of the dentist??

You were there, dear surgery, many times when I needed you. Like that six month period when I was in Years 4-6 when I turned into an accident prone maniac. You were there to set those broken bones; all five thousand of them. Well, let's see. Do you remember them all? There was the left wrist x 4, the right wrist x 1, the numerous toes, the left ankle, oh and all of those fingers. Good times, good times.

I remember, the time when that lovely old doctor disappeared. He was the one who used to chase me around the room when Dr C. wasn't there to calm me down with the hint of lollipops. He was the one who used to scare me into hiding behind the observation room curtains because he terrified me. Absolutely terrified me. I remember when he disappeared, dear surgery, and it wasn't for another few years that I learned that he had actually committed suicide. A very sad time.

Ah yes. I could go on for hours. There is such a history between you and I, I cannot deny that. I could mention those brown chairs in the waiting room which are older than I am. I could mention the horrid receptionists that come and go. I could even mention your bathroom door, which to this day does not have a lock on it and leaves me in a panic every time I have the urge to pee since obviously, someone could just walk in at any time and expose my nether parts to the entire universe. Or, you know, waiting room. Or, nobody. But that is not the point.

Alas, dear surgery. The times have changed. And so I have a question. Please, take your time before you answer. WHY THE FUCK DOES IT NOW TAKE OVER 3 HOURS TO BOOK A SIMPLE VISIT TO MY FAMILY DOCTOR??

Your ever patient, er, patient,

Aly.


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