Walking into an
automatic glass door, I saw people all around. Most of them are sick-looking.
Others are uniformly dressed officers. Most of them are face-masked. As I walked
in, one officer in black suit came to me. He led me to a registration table
where I wrote my name and wait for my turn. I felt really confused and heavy on
my head at that time. As I looked around, I realize that this place is divided into categories. Then, I was sent to a diminutive table where they check my
blood pressure and other stuffs. I had high fever of 39.2 Celsius, which is considered precarious. And again, I
was sent to the waiting area where I wait for my turn.
I got it from here.
After a while, a female nurse called
my name. I walked inside the small room with my sister. A middle-aged male
doctor is sitting behind the glass table. He stood up and came to me. He
checked my throat and my heart beat. My throat is red. Then, he began to ask
questions. We had a ten-minute talk. Then the doctor wrote down the medicines
and gave it to the nurse. And again, I have to wait for one of the three cashiers
to call my name.
I got it from here.
As
I wait, I can feel that my super high fever is getting even higher. I feel like
I’m going to vomit. I went to a blue comfortable-looking sofa and lay down. I tried to mellow but I can't. People
around me are coughing, too. I feel like the air inside not clean but seems like everyone is uninterested about it. Half an hour
passed by, my name was not called yet. I feel even worse. My throat is dry and
my head is so hot. I tried to sleep but my head is burning. Why does it take so
long? I feel like fainting now. I need some long-deep rest. I wish that I can
just teleport back to my small comfortable bed in my house.
It
has been 45 minutes since I went out of the doctor’s room. Finally, the cashier
called my name. Then, my sister went to take the medicine, leaving me on the
sofa. We walk to our small car. Suddenly, bits of water fall to our head. It’s
raining. I got home in two hours and I feel like dying.
