Where Is Fanny Stain When You Need Her !

 I always spell my surname out when I encounter any officialdom.
It’s a habit, I’ve got into as many people spell my surname as in the colour and not the Scottish/Irish monika.
The receptionist was polite enough, though I did have to wait a little as Karen still hadn’t come back from her break yet , cue much eye rolling.
The ultrasound department is like any other small hospital outpatients. 
Faceless and sanitized.
Another two men, patients too were sat in a gown to my right. 
One looked nervous .
Another receptionist called out “ Thomas Jefferson “ but no one reacted.
She snorted and picked up the phone
The three of us sat in silence for a while longer.
I got out my phone and started to write this blog after Karen or was it Annette could be heard muttering 
I don’t know where Mr Jefferson has got to…what does he look like?”

We are all invisible, I thought to myself , invisible  men in our sixties

I galloped backwards in my mind to the minors unit at Sheffield’s Royal Hallamshire Hospital.
Circa 1989
A student nurse with a set of false notes was calling a patient into minors for a procedure, she was blushing with the importance of calling the next patient in whilst surrounded by the poorly general public 

“ Fanny Stain? Is there a Fanny Stain here?” She called out hopefully

And from behind the nurses station came the muffled hysteria only hospital staff can be responsible for .






from Going Gently https://ift.tt/2Les3OD

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