When I make an appointment, I am early or on time. Never late. I fret if I am going to be late. To avoid giving myself stress, I leave early even though I know I might be the first to arrive. Better early than late, I say.

I don’t want the other person/s whom I made an appointment with to wait for me as an appointment is, after all, an arrangement to meet someone at a particular time and place. I know there are some people, who will always be late. If it’s for official/formal occasions like work, meetings or events, its remiss. If it’s social, it’s still remiss because you are making others, more likely family, and friends, wait for you. Not acceptable.

The lack of respect or acknowledgment of my time is what irks me the most. But, I, like many other people, make appointments, for a specific time on a specific day, and wait for hours. Yes, to see a doctor. Specialist or general practitioner. Private clinics or hospitals. Government clinics or hospitals. No matter. However, the waiting at private clinics/hospitals annoys me most as consultations, tests, and medicines are frighteningly expensive. Pay and still wait.

Over the years, I have accompanied my mum to have her lungs, heart, arthritis, and broken wrist examined, at a few private clinics/hospitals. Yes, back when she was mobile. The waiting was a given. A permanent feature. A resigned acceptance regardless of my mum’s condition. Naturally, I had no idea how the other patients, who waited to see the same doctor as my mum, fared at the time. I just knew she needed looking at, otherwise, we wouldn’t have joined the waiting cohort.

The dreaded blood test tested my patience every time it was prescribed for my mum. The instruction not to eat prior to a blood test was well and good if she was attended to at the appointed time. That never happened. I managed to move the needle a little only because I made a nuisance of myself by constantly reminding whomever was there that my mum, who was visibly old even then, needed attention. And quickly, so she could have her breakfast before she fainted. Thankfully now, my mum’s palliative team does home visits.  

Fast forward to 2023. A few months ago, my husband and I visited a private hospital in the Klang Valley. No change at all. Silently I hoped we wouldn’t have to return. Return, we did, thrice. The scenario. The waiting room was heaving with patients. Patients waiting to be attended to. Patients waiting to register. Patients waiting to pay for the services they have and/or haven’t yet received. The waiting room had a digital queue board with flashing numbers. Staff behind the counter looked purposeful and engaged. Staff in the many treatment rooms appeared intermittently to call out names of patients. Doctors came and went. It was a busy atmosphere.   

On our first trip, we heard the loud complaints of two patients about the non-working digital queue board. They wanted to file their grievance to the persons-in-charge, not the nurse behind the counter, who was trying to pacify them. Apparently, the duo were given queue numbers but had to wait hours while others who had arrived later were attended to before them. Our waiting time was close to two hours for a consultation with a specialist, who had personally arranged the appointment via WhatsApp.

Second trip. Same scenario. The waiting room was bursting at its seams. But this time, we were told to go to the specialists’ clinics. There were already many patients before us. So, wait we did. For another hour or so. Admittedly, our doctor was attentive, and the consultation was useful.  

Third trip. Appointment time was made and agreed by our specialist, again, by WhatsApp. We were back at the same waiting room. We still had to register and collect a number. And, the wait was mighty long. When we were finally called, there was another wait behind the hallowed walls of the waiting room. What? Wait in the waiting room. Wait again outside the treatment rooms? At that point, we were both aggrieved.

We discovered more treatment rooms at the rear. Staff with clipboards were walking in and out of rooms. No one, whom I could see/tell, was being a layabout. Whilst I was there, an elderly lady, looked distressed at having to drink two bottles of liquid as prep for a test. She wanted to know why she wasn’t given the two bottles of liquid to drink while she was waiting for hours in the waiting room, waiting to be called for this particular/scheduled test. How was she expected to drink all the liquid at such short notice? I felt for her.

The treatment took less than 30 minutes with consultation. Our wait time was three hours. Why?