I've been feeling like I've had something stuck to the back of my tongue for about a week and a half, and it was really beginning to annoy me. So, seeing as how I didn't have much on yesterday, I made a doctor's appointment. I go in to see the doctor and - lo and behold - he couldn't see far enough back down my throat to see what I was talking about.
This left me in an interesting position. I could go to see a dentist (as they are trained in oral pathology, and come armed with those dental mirrors), but I was a little dubious about being able to see a dentist on short notice. That, and I am terrified of dentists. Or, he suggested, I could go down to the Eye Nose and Throat Hospital (or, as I found out later, the Eye and Ear hospital), check myself into emergency and have a doctor look at me.
"Emergency?" I say. "That's silly - I feel fine. I'm not an emergency case." But the doctor assured me that it wasn't silly, because I felt that there was something wrong and I should probably have it checked out.
So I tromp down to the emergency department of the Eye and Ear hospital. Wait 15-30 mins to be triaged (I might point out as well that my iPod ran out of batteries earlier in the day). Saw a lovely nurse named Anne as I explained that I wasn't desperately ill, I just felt like there was something stuck to the back of my tongue, and my doctor told me to come in to have it checked out. She smiled, and told be that they would probably have to give me an endoscope up my nose.
I laughed nervously.
She then asked if I had had lunch yet. I was a little confused, but said no (thinking it would be something to do with the scope procedure). She frowned and said, "Well, I'll put you in the semi-urgent category then, so you don't starve."
I had, on speaking to the clerk, plenty of time to "Go get a magazine. And finish reading it, too, probably" before I would be seen by a doctor. I found the Rotary Club Kiosk (being so close to the Royal Melbourne, I have long since learned that every hospital has a Rotary Club kiosk, and that they all sell the cheapest stuff you can find in a hospital), picked up a trashy (and boy, do I mean trashy) 2nd hand romance novel, then settle myself down to wait.
Two and a half hours later, beginning to get nervous about being given an endoscope up my nose, I am at last collected by a doctor - a plesant Indian gentleman. I am not given an endoscope. He peers down my throat with a warmed mirror, pulling my tongue out as he does so. We spend more time talking about my PhD than he does examining me - not because he was not a good doctor, but because there was not a whole lot wrong with me.
Ten minutes later, I am perscribed antibiotics for inflamed lymphoid tissue as the base of my tongue.
And that was, basically, the entirety of my day.