Yesterday I've cleaned out my wardrobe. I hadn't done such a thing in about two and a half years, maybe even more. Four full garbage bags (the big ones) have been filled and are off to other family members (we conquer and share). FOUR TO THE TOP FILLED GARBAGE BAGS. I'm a changed woman.

During my lifetime I've often seen the inside of a hospital. However this has never led me to not being frightened by the whole place (and the people it carries). Quite honestly, I still cry when a doctor points his finger in my direction and I've probably hit the ground before a needle is even insight.

Last Wednesday I had to go to hospital to get a bump removed from my head. Nothing too grand, just standard procedure. I was already pissing my pants (figurly speaking). These things just aren't made for me.

At first I was worried that no one was actually there. We'd seen some people enter the building, but as we went through the entrace, no one was there. They'd just vanished into nothingness. No patients, no doctors. Luckily there were signs (and the assistent -when making the appointment- also gave us a description of the way we had to go). So we followed them. Basically we had to walk through a corridor till we saw another sign (plus the word 'huisartsenpraktijk' aka GP (a little Dutch learning session there) was written all over the window. Which my mother had actually missed and was still with her nose up in the air looking at all the signs that were hanging from the ceiling. There are always a lot of them in hospitals. Just an observation). So we went into the waiting room. Still no one there, except for the 20.000 different kinds of chairs. It was almost as if it was a showroom of chairs or as if they couldn't decide which one to take when decorating (although they did a poorly job if doing so. A white void with all different chairs and bad lighting, not very cosy) and just went for all of the chairs they had in store.

Anyway, there was a doctor and he called me in (together with my mum. I never go alone. It's a scary place with people that get paid to cut into you. Never to be trusted). Before he got to start slicing my head open, he needed to sedate the area he was going to attack with his tool. Which naturally means a syringe was at hand. So I freaked out. Almost fainted. But my mum could get me in order. Calmed me down. And as the doctor was injecting whatever he was injecting (which by the way left a horrible feeling in my forehead), the syringe exploded. Owh yeah. You didn't see that one coming (neither did I). Needle in my head, some kind of narcotizer dripping down my face and the 'container' was catapulted somewhere into the white void. A good start indeed.


Now naturally all hope had been lost and I was just not having it. A real struggle occurred. But he managed to stick his knife into my head (and the sounds it makes is very tedious. Especially because you're the only one who can actually hear it due to the small vibrations of the skin when it gets cut and it being so close to your ear. Very annoying and nasty. Not something to be listening to when trying to 'take it easy'). However, before he could get started with the whole shebang, he snipped some of my hair off and then asked if it was alright if he snipped some of my hair off. (!!) I mean, that's not very gentleman like (and I can hardly refuse as the action was already taken. Naturally I wouldn't refuse due to the necessity of it. But first ask then do, not the other way round).

As it all may come to you as a surprise, after all that butchering, it was simply tied with one stitch (which he initially claimed to be the same colour as my hair, but turned out to be bright blue. Not. to. be. trusted.).

It was a very unpleasant experience. I don't like it when it seems as if the doctor's got no idea of what he's doing. Or says how it should be doing and then screws it up ("It's best if I take it out at once", *breaks a piece of it*). But I've survived and that's the most important part, ay?!

Further this week I've been busy finishing my last essays (ahum, I actually still ought to be busy typing words about museums and stuff but got distracted doing so...), which I'll be needing to hand in this Tuesday. *sigh* BUT THEN, it can't be, it won't be, but yeah it is dumdumdumdummmmmmm HOLIDAY, CELEBRATE, IT'S TIME FOR HOLIDAY! Hooray hooray!

Love,
Dominique