Mrs Stone’s ENT Appointment by Chris Fielden

The room stinks of disinfectant. You’d think with the amount of tax my Harold paid over the years they’d be able to afford something more fragrant.

The walls look like a paint factory has vomited on them. Modern art, they call it... Makes me feel queasy.

I look up and see my name in large red letters. Now everyone in the waiting room knows who I am. There’s no privacy nowadays.

I lick my lips and taste denture adhesive. It’s too minty. How am I supposed to enjoy a cuppa when it feels like I’ve been force-fed a Polo production plant?

I touch the door handle. It’s filthy. With £350,000,000 a week back in the NHS, you’d think they could afford to employ a few cleaners.

The doctor’s sitting behind his desk. His mouth’s moving.

“What?” I say.

He says something else. Why do young people mumble?

“You’ll have to speak up, dear.”

He stands and puts something in my ear.

“How’s that?” he bellows.

“There’s no need to shout, dear. I’m not deaf.”





by Chris Fielden

First published in Sensorially Challenged, Vol. 1

Comments

  1. Great piece, Chris. The character leaps off the page. I'd love to hear more from Mrs Stone!

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  2. I love it, so 'real life' and so well put. It reminds me of my mum and my mother-in-law. They were exactly the same: asking people to repeat everything then, when hearing aid inserted or you raise your voice, 'no need to shout, I'm not deaf'.

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