It takes a full five minutes at the pace of a speed walker to get there from the parking garage.  I had Hilary with me – a terminal ambler - so it took 10 minutes.

This was the site of my initial introduction to Groote Schuur when I attended the Breast Clinic on 1 October 2010 after being referred by my GP in Aberdeen.  Wednesday was my third visit to this Department and I was ready.

I was shocked to find that the place was only about a third full, meaning that there were only about 200 people in the whole place.  I thought it was going to be a breeze.  I headed straight over to Cubicle C – the domain of Vernon, who only handles the Surgical Outpatient Department.  I confidently handed him my card and waited for him to confidently hand me my folder.  A slight clearing of the throat and sheepish grin alerted me to the fact that this was not going to be as easy as I thought.  Vernon had no record of my impending visit ergo, he did not have my folder.  I explained that despite some missing information on his computer as to the various places my folder had travelled,  I had been discharged from Ward F17 on 1 December, I had subsequently been to LE33 on Monday and I was due to be in C3 next Monday.  Surely the folder would show up in one of the three places.  Vernon assured me he would find it, fetch it and send me happily on my way.  I had absolute confidence in Vernon, although anyone that friendly, cheerful and positively oozing job-satisfaction in a public health facility should set alarm bells ringing.

Hilary and I went off to find seats in front of one of three television sets in the great hall.  We opted for the one showing Scooby-Doo and settled in for the long haul.  It turned out that 7 minutes was long enough for me and I invited Hilary to join me outside for a cigarette.  One of the greatest attributes of Outpatients is that it takes approximately 25 steps to get outside to the smoking benches – no lift rides, no long corridors and no stairs.  All it takes is a quick bag search by security and you are on the outside.  On the downside, however, Outpatients is like central casting for Cirque de Soleil only with even stranger characters.  I have shared a smoking bench with convicts in leg-irons, battered and bruised hobos, one-eyed people and a couple of lunatics.  A member of the latter group approached us as we sat down and in extremely unhushed tones asked, “What do you think the government is going to do with the R 665 million given to it by FIFA?”  Hilary, who has a penchant for the theatrical, replied, “I know that they aren’t going to give it to me.”  As I had to suddenly take a very urgent telephone call, I left the two of them to discuss the issue further.  Hilary (much) later revealed that this fellow was under the impression that the money was to be used in the “raw” areas for sports fields.  We think he meant “rural”, but one can never tell with these people.

On returning to the booking hall, I discovered that Vernon was still trying to locate the folder, so Hilary headed off to the kiosk – much bigger than that at the Combined Clinic and also boasting what it playfully called “pies”.  Hilary couldn’t resist and returned with two coffees and a Steak and Kidney Pie-labelled packet.  The pie looked like it had been there since ‘Nam and it was clearly a victim of Agent Orange.  The pastry, in an attempt to avoid contamination from the filling, had slid off to the sides to create a mini-battlefield – pastry on each side for the trenches and a muddy mound of meat in no-man’s land in between.  I was tempted to ask Hilary if I was named in his will before allowing him to eat that little weapon of mass destruction, but I was too late.  Declaring it to have an interesting texture with a hint of ploughed earth for flavour, he proceeded to finish it.  I swear that man has the constitution of an ox!

At 10.15 Vernon called me to his window to let me know that the system had beaten him and that he was giving me a duplicate file as an indication of his surrender to the power of bureaucratic incompetence.  So, clutching my new folder which held a few stickers and sheet of paper, we headed to OG56, a trip which took -10 minutes because only one lift was working and the other one was secretly a time machine which travelled so slowly that we got out of it 10 minutes before we had left.  While the Sister-In-Charge (SIC) was very happy to see me again (she even asked after Nik), she informed me that the doctor would not see me without my proper file because the doctor needed to have all my test results on hand to properly discuss my surgery.  The SIC at OG56 is an amazing woman.  I have seen her manage and co-ordinate the screening of 230 breast complaints in one morning without breaking a sweat, or losing her amazing sense of humour.  15 minutes after we arrived, she informed me that she had located my file at Cubicle H and that I was return to the great hall to collect it.  I left Hilary resting on a bench (obviously working through heartburn, indigestion and a dose of salmonella for good measure) and went to collect my file.  On my return, I had lost another 20 minutes in the time-space continuum and wondered if I had found the key to reversing the aging process.  I realised, however, that the stress of never getting anywhere would override the anti-aging properties of the lift and gave up on the Nobel Prize.

SIC moved us to waiting room 3, aptly named, as we waited another 45 minutes to see the doctor.  I was obviously the only breast patient that day as everyone else had giant throat bandages.  Eeuw!! While sitting quietly, a woman walking past stopped to say hello.  Apparently, during one of my many visits to the hospital, I had met her in the lift and we had bonded over shared medical stories.  Given the speed of the lift, we had probably shared life stories, too!  However, she asked me how things were going with me and I reciprocated.  It was nice to catch up.  I still have no recollection of meeting her, but we she seemed nice.

When I finally saw the doctor I got to engage in my new favourite game – How fast can you flash a breast?  I have managed to shave at least 5 seconds off my previous best, so I’m pleased with that.  She was happy with the progress of my healing and confirmed that the third breast I had recently developed in my armpit was a seroma, surrounded by a haematoma.  There is nothing quite like being an overachiever in the medical stakes, is there?  She cheerfully informed me that it should disappear within a couple of months without requiring any treatment.  The alternative is to insert a needle into the lump and draw out the fluids, which can carry the risk of infection.  She felt that this was not a good idea.  I think she is an excellent doctor and I enjoy her non-invasive approach to healing!  She asked me if I wanted paracetamol for the pain.  What is it with this place?  Who the hell takes paracetamol for pain?  You take that for a hangnail, not a fluid-filled lump the size of a golf ball.  I assured her that my drug of choice, Myprodol, was working just fine, thank you.

While I had her attention, I asked the doctor whether or not the ERNA scan which I have to have on my heart on Monday involves any invasive procedures.  She stated that it did not, although there is an injection involved.  Obviously we have differing definitions of invasive.  Anything that penetrates my body is an invasion (excluding that which I willingly invite in) and a needle falls into that category.  Now I have another bloody needle looming!  By the end of all of this, I will have been pricked so many times I can market myself as a human colander.

I informed the SIC on the way out that they were now rid of me forever as I had been given the all-clear.  Fabulous woman that she is, she asked me to please pop in now and then to let them all know how I am doing.  Aside from the night nurse in F17 and the evil catering folk, oh, and that vampire/ nurse who draws blood at LE33, the staff at Groote Schuur are absolutely amazing.  They perform their work with such enthusiasm and empathy under immense pressure and I have been constantly amazed at their capacity for kindness, despite the difficulty of dealing with such a broad spectrum of people, most of whom are not exactly happy to be there.  These dedicated people manage to make what is an extremely difficult ordeal, a rather pleasant experience.  I have a great deal of admiration for all of them and I am grateful that these are the people I have to watch over me.

We left the hospital at 11.00 – 30 minutes earlier than on Monday.  Things are looking up.