Frustration
She squeezed her eyes and shifted awkwardly in the hard chair, her usually slim figure had shrunk to a bony thin frame and the lack of fat around her buttock cheeks made sitting in the waiting room uncomfortable.
She was still feeling vexed with the receptionist. The girl had reluctantly turned away from telling her colleague about her weekend, and then ignoring Elizabeth, had directed all questions and information to Paul.
A voice inside her screamed at the girl, ‘Talk to ME, I’m in front of you, I understand, it is my appointment for God’s sake.’ But she couldn’t say anything and instead had shrugged in exasperation, waved her hand dismissively at her husband meaning, ‘you sort it out’ then sat down.
The lighting in the room was unnaturally bright. She fidgeted with the rings on her numb hand, listened to the incessant paging of the Doctors and the matter of fact discussions of the medical staff. The wheels of a records trolley hissed past on the tiled floor and the automatic doors swooshed open to let more patients through. The room smelled of disinfectant. The therapist was late. She, Elizabeth, had never been late she had always started her lectures on time; she should be there now not sitting in a waiting room full of elderly patients. She caughta few of them giving her a pitying look and once or twice she looked up to find the receptionist staring at her.
Elizabeth pushed her long blonde fringe from her eyes clumsily with the wrist of her useless right hand, would she ever get used to using her left hand for everything, her glasses fell to the floor and she nudged her husband to retrieve them. He put them gently back on her nose and tidied up her fringe and the sides of her hair as he did so. She tried to say thanks but all that came out was a toneless moan followed by the indignity of drool escaping from the right side of her downturned mouth.
She was sitting with her head in her cupped hand when the therapist called her name.
‘How are you doing Mrs Upton? OK?’
‘She’s doing better than I could have hoped for considering how she was last month’ replied
Paul.
Elizabeth banged her good fist angrily on the table. She was exploding inside. The annoyance from someone speaking for her without knowing what she was thinking or what she wanted to say was burning inside her. She wanted to say that she was a prisoner; she wanted to explain that ther had been a mistake. She wanted to say that that somewhere somehow the Gods had made a mistake. She was only thirty three years old, this shouldn’t be happening to her.She wanted to say so much but the inability to form words and communicate came out as a throaty ‘Aaargh’ so she lashed out at Paul and turned away.
Then I remodelled it later at a writing workshop.......not sure which I like best.... think I like this better ???
Frustration
Karl sat patiently in the chair whilst Laura busied herself with the morning routine. He watched the children, Ben and Chloe, eat their coco pops and squabble over who would keep the cut out finger puppet on the back of the packet.
Then he accepted their kisses on his cheek as they left for school when the child minder picked them up from home.
Laura appeared by his chair, she wiped the dribble that was escaping from his downturned mouth, then planted a light kiss on his lips before helping him out to the car. He was a little unsteady on his feet but he was determined not to succumb to a wheel chair.
The waiting room at the clinic was already filling up. He stood by the reception desk with Laura and when the receptionist glanced at him but addressed Laura, he wanted to shout ' it's my appointment' but he gave a shrug and went to sit down.
The chair was uncomfortable and he shifted awkwardly in it. The waiting room was filled with elderly patients. What was he doing here. Why him ? The therapist was running late. He had never been late for work. Lateness is a sign of sloppiness. No room for sloppiness in his business.
His fringe flopped in his eyes and he tried to push it to one side with awkward movements from his jerking wrist. he needed a haircut. He had his hair cut every six weeks and it had been almost three months since his last visit to the barber and two months since...
'Mr Lander please'.
Laura helped him out of the chair and slowly into the consulting room.
'How are we today', chirped the Therpist.
'He's doing well, really' answered Laura not looking at Karl.
In his head words bounced like squash balls of a wall. Angry frustrated and out of control his indifference bowed to a greater superior strength and he banged his hand down on the table between the Therapist and Laura.
Startled they both turned and gaped at him.
He wanted to say that he could answer his own questions. He wanted to say that he was a prisoner in this body. He wanted to say that none of this should be happening to him, that someone some where had got it all wrong. He was too young. He wanted to tell them that he would be back to his old self soon. there was a lot of things he wanted to say, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was...
'aargh'.
copywrite BMC 21.01.11
