Yesterday I left the house at 7:30 and got to the Martinez Blood Draw Clinic at 7:45, not bad. I pulled a ticket, #5 and sat down. The room was already full of old guys. I was thinking they must come down here and hang out because it's a social kind of thing. The window opens at 8am and the number 95 is displayed. OK, I got here 15 minutes before they opened and I'm 10th in line. I was hoping for better! At about 8:10 the first number gets called, "NUMMER NINY FI !" I'm guessing Filipino? #95 jumps up like he's won at BINGO and rushes the window. There is a big sign at the window that says "Have Your VA Card Ready." The sign is so big you can't see the receptionist. As the guy runs up to the window you see a little hand appear above the sign, it looks like a little claw, perfectly shaped to accept his card. He places the card in the claw and awaits his instructions in perfectly unrecognizable Filipino.
I'm bored, I left my phone at home and my iPod can't find a single Wi-Fi signal. I pop in my ear buds and spin some Afro-Cuban music. I look around the room and decide the best way to handle the situation is to make believe I'm not in America. The tunes decide for me so I make believe I'm at a clinic in Cuba. And the funny thing is, it feels right. Yea, I'm on vacation in Cuba and I will temper my expectations accordingly.
"NUMMER NINY SX!," everyone in the room glances at the number sign. It still displays 95, after about a minute you can feel a bit of apprehension around the room. The number sign still displays 95. It's as though there has been some cosmic misunderstanding. Synchronicity has been lost. After two minutes people are making eye contact around the room. There is a simian quality to this communication. Like a monkey that can no longer reach its banana. I'm unfazed because I'm in Cuba. "NUMMER NINY SEBN!" All eyes turn to the display and 96 appears and a moment later, 97. Order has been restored.
I watch the various people that walk by. Many say Hello and are very friendly. A guy with a dirty bag tries to hand me a newspaper and I immediately think it's a homeless guy trying to get a donation for some sorry street rag. But as he turns away I see he's handing out free copies of the San Francisco Chronicle and I kick myself for being so defensive. Numbers get called and people move around the room. People stand and people sit. Others walk by and I watch the room change like a living mosaic. An old guy walks out of the Blood Draw room full of noisy indignation. "I told them what my blood type was, but they don't listen!" Most people turn away but I don't have a paper to read so I watch the show. "I'm suppose to let them operate on me and they don't even know my fuckin blood type!" He shambles across the room looking left and right and makes eye contact with me. Like a magnet he latches on to my interest and stumbles up to my chair. "I showed them my fuckin dog tags and it says right on them my fuckin blood type but do they believe my fuckin dog tags? Fuck no! Am I suppose to let these fuckers cut me open when they don't know my fuckin blood type!"
I should be intimidated but I'm sure the Cuban Military will show up at any moment.
NUMMER FI! I stand up and jokingly whisper to Mr. Blood Type, "My Turn." I give him my best shrug like we share an understanding that I will be the next to share in the institutional abuse. I walk to the window and see the claw. I lean over the sign and smile. "I'm sorry, I don't have my card yet." The claw says, "Lass Nam?" "Pugh,"I say. "Lass Fo?" "3713", I say. Claw explains to me that she does not have an order from my Doctor to draw blood. She attempts to call the Doctor and there is no answer. She makes a few more calls and tells me they are in a meeting. She also calls more numbers and I get the sinking feeling that I'm going to be here all morning. She tells me to sit down and she will call me up as soon as she contacts my Doctor. I sit down and remember the admonition I received when I got my appointment time with this Doctor. "Don't Be Late" I was told over and over again. This Doctor is very strict about you being late. I'm thinking I'm also very strict about having to wait because his office didn't order any tests. Strike One on this Doctor.
I can't see the receptionist behind the sign but I can see the phone mounted on the wall next to her. 10 minutes goes by and she makes no more calls about my tests. More numbers get called and we are up to 15. I was tenth in line when I arrived and now 10 more patients have been seen while I wait on the Doctors office. Claw reaches for the phone and makes a call. I hear my name called and am told that the tests are being ordered and I will be called up in about 5 minutes. 15 minutes goes by and Claw calls me over. She tells me she got the order and I will be moved to the front of the line. 2 minutes later she walks out of the office on break and when the next patient is called it's not me. 2 more patients get called and I've lost hope that she has informed anyone about me. I hate Cuba, I vow to never return. I make believe I'm in Somalia with ebola. I'm going to die because there are no beds left.
Claw comes back a few minutes later with a big cup of coffee. She looks right at me but does not make the connection that I was never called. A few minutes later I hear her call Pugh!. "Where were you?" she asks. Where was I? Then I get it. A good offense is better that a weak defense. She's been at this a long time. When in doubt, blame the patient. I apologize and tell her I've been stuck in Somalia.
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