A day at the doc's

The Bedok polyclinic staff were busy with the great number who turned up to seek medical attention. In one corner, beside the flowerpot, a mum admonishes a child for her itchy finger at having touched the dirty lid of a dustbin and through a door, enters a frail man relying to a wooden stick, eyes carefully probing the area for a seat. The clinic radiated the air of an old hospital waiting to be refurbished. People kept thronging the area awaiting their turn at a consultation with the many general practitioners on duty. Leaning my back against the wall, allowing others the luxury of seats, I regretted not plopping my MP3 into my pocket upon realizing I had to wait for 70 people to be tended to. Not allowing myself to feel the sourness of such a mistake, I let my eyes wonder as I observantly watched every other individual(just like myself) wondering when their turn would be. Well, that was the best way to kill time and before I knew it, I found myself speaking meagerly talking to a doctor. It was, of course an ostentatious show, having to speak softly like as if I just suffered some major asthma attack and was desperate to have some medical prognosis. And guess what, the doctor bought my act. Joel Teh was his name.
“Maybe you could use 1 day off?” he questioned with all the courtesy he could muster.
“ 2 days perhaps?” I pleaded betting on my luck. I turned away to hide a sheepish grin as I heard his fingers run through the keyboard inputting the details of my “episode” with asthma.
“Okay” he nodded as he began clicking away at the mouse.
“And oh, perhaps I could use more of the ventolin inhaler. I think I’m running out of it” I requested in a bid to make my little fabricated story more convincing. I was already on temporary cloud nine at being granted the luxury of two days without having to do work.
“Sure” he promised. The printer flanking my seat let out a drone as it cranked out a slip of paper. “Okay, take all these with you and proceed over to the pharmacy. Place the largest piece in reception box. The pharmacist will assemble your medicine for you” he instructed as he motioned toward the cubicle door whilst offering a warm smile. I reciprocated his warmth and made for the door. “Thank you, Sir” were my last words to him as I searched the compounds for anything that resembled a pharmacy.

Placing the “largest piece” meant another thing. More waiting for my medicine to be issued to me. Anticipating another wait, I obediently plopped it into the reception box as I was told to do, and found myself yet another “inviting” spot on the many walls to rest my back on. My queue number came up as a bell went off politely summoning me to counter 19. The middle-aged pharmacist held out her palm demanding my Medical Certificate whilst she continued to check the medicine bottles to see if she had collected and put together the right medicine to address my “ailment”. I took a glance at the vial of medicine and this wave of guilt seemed to surge through my body.
It was at that moment, when I began questioning myself. Was it within my conscience to abuse the services promised by the Singapore government? Yes, in terms of medical services rendered to civil servants like myself, they’re all financially covered. But what if one uses it to his own selfish advantage just to get a few days off from National Service, and then he looks at the vials of pricey medicine given to him to aid him in his so-called sickness, only to see to it that, these redundant medicine would go down the rubbish chute? When we all know full well how these medicine could be generously donated to the sick and the needy in other poor nations so as to stave off the diseases which plaque the health and threaten the lives of many? As I grabbed the plastic bag fully loaded with medicine to make for the payment counter, I found myself questioning my own sense of right and wrong. These medicine which I wasn’t going to consume, was I going to discard them and further rub the chili into my own face? Consuming them would be unnecessary since I wasn’t honestly feeling unwell or anything. As I thought it through, flashes of the sick and the impoverished from third world nations ran sickeningly through my mind, mocking my morals and principles as every sorrowful image leaves its bitter mark in some corner of my mind. I headed slowly to the payment counter with my 11B clipped firmly by two of my long fingers and I let this worrisome guilt and bitter taste of sin burn me inside. My hand went cold as they held tightly onto the bag of medicine (that could possibly aid some poor people in their sickness) which would inevitably go to waste merely because I wasn’t going to consume them. The bite of mockery to my virtues began to dwindle as I made my way out of the clinic and rejoiced in the appealing luxury of 2 days off.