Dispatches from hell: Next chapter in the hospital saga

When I went to the casualty department about a month ago, I was given a letter referring me to the specialist department for further investigation. I went the next day and booked an appointment and I was given a date for a month later. This would be to see a surgeon so that I could book a date for a gastroscope.

Hospital toilet: I'm not sure that any help will be forthcoming if you try pressing these

My appointment was for 07h30 and I was there by 07h15. After wandering around lost, I finally found a desk which allocated me a number and I went off to get my file. The filing clerks only open at 8h00 but the waiting room was already full, which is normal for that hospital. I was surprised when some people came around offering free sandwiches and coffee: were they finally acknowledging the fact that some of the people there had been waiting from 06h00, after having travelled for hours? At around 9, I got my file, paid and went back to the numbers desk to await the doctors who tend to arrive at around 10h00.

Eventually, I got called into a room by a doctor who ignored me and spent about 5 minutes whatsapping on his phone. He eventually asked me "What's the problem?". I told him that I was there to book a G-scope. He wrote a letter to the relevant ward and a prescription for another month's supply of ulcer medication.

I got lost again trying to find the ward, but eventually got there and was given a booking at the end of March. Mission accomplished: off to the Pharmacy. After more lost wandering I was allocated a number and the time written down - 10h50. I saw a waiting time of one and a half hours pencilled in on a board in the pharmacy. I gritted my teeth and found my place in the queue.

The pharmacy waiting hall is stuffy and smells of farts and frustrated, irritated humanity. There's the obligatory person who won't shut up and must tell total strangers his views on life, the universe and everything; a woman with a book who tells others that her sense have humour has left her when people start trying to make jokes with her. A yelling toddler and an old man who becomes very agitated and starts yelling at the kid to shut up. People start laughing at him. A man who starts a race-based argument because he thought he was being ignored by the staff. Everyone starts muttering that there's always someone who has to have a race-tantrum. This is South Africa after all.

The queue was moving at a snail's pace and the one and a half hours became a distant memory. The man next to me told me that he has to do this every month and showed me that the doctor has written a note asking the pharmacy to supply two and a half month's worth of meds because the patient has to travel so far. We wondered whether the pharmacy would actually follow that instruction.

Suddenly, everyone in the pharmacy looked interested: the cops came in with a man in handcuffs so there was something to speculate about. I wondered whether it was strictly necessary to parade a prisoner in front of a room full of people but I also know that the pharmacy refuse to give medication to anyone except the patient so the cops aren't trying to be mean. It reminds me of the time I was once waiting to see the doctor and a string of men in prison overalls and leg irons were paraded through the halls by guards with guns, off to see the doctor. The ordinary patients were annoyed because it meant that they would have to wait even longer because the convicts would get seen first as they were a security risk. Luckily the doctors were late and the convicts were taken off elsewhere because of the risk of them escaping or their friends arriving to free them. Or so we were told.

Eventually, I got my medication. The time was 14h15, so it took seven hours to get an appointment and a pack of pills. State healthcare isn't for the faint-hearted or impatient.