A bland building containing a bank on the ground floor and first floor, the rest is dentists and medical doctors. The stairwell is bland and clean, the floor and the stairs are granite and concrete.
Climb the stairs, pass the banks rooms. There are sounds of demolition here, they are refurbishing, perhaps they are repurposing. Re something or other.
Another floor, and there is the doctors practice. There is a forgotten package at the door, pick it up and bring it to the counter. They say thank you, it had been overlooked.
The papers are all in order, the little plastic insurance card will do for the payment. All is dealt with, everything is signed, and that is it, go back to the waiting room. There is a book about Rubens there, the painter. It has nice colour photographs, but the black and white plates are not as well done at all. Somehow the contrast has gone all wrong. Read the commentaries, the titles, think about all these classical ideas to show women undressed, even being abused. But the paintings are so well done.
Go to the lavatory, as advised by the receptionists, make sure that the bladder is as empty as is possible. It is a strange lavatory, with test bottles in the corner, and apparatus for the measurement of the urine flow in the middle of the room. Do what is humanly possible and return to the waiting room.
Eventually, the person doing the examination appears and asks for her next patient. Follow down the corridor, realise that the practice is much larger than had been previously thought. At the end of the corridor, a door, and a small windowless room. Receive directions as to which clothes should be removed and go into a small side room to change.
The examination takes over half an hour, chat with the doctor, feel the occasional discomfort as the machine measures pressure and quantities, resistances and volumes.
Afterwards, hear that everything is in order.
So there is nothing to do but to get dressed again, and to return to the receptionist.
And to make another appointment.
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