The waiting room

I play with my nails

I notice a chip on them

Im going to have to get them done soon

I wonder what colour I will get?

In the waiting room

There is a little boy over on one side with his mum

There is an elderly women smiling at him, as she lifts her head up from her book

I am the only one of my age in the waiting room

I sit there trying to compose myself

"Amy Kinnings- Smith, room 4 "

I walk down the corridor

Trying to navigate the many doors

I find it

And open the door

How are you they ask?

You can be truthful they say

I play with my nails

The chip is really starting to annoy me

The colour is all wrong

They start listing the tests theyll do

The parts of me they cut off to test

The tests they will do

The bloods theyll take

The conditions they need to rule out

All these words I will need to google once I am home

I think when I am home, I will look on pintrest for a new nail style

I am thinking pink or yellow

They examine me

Ask if I want someone else in the room with me

Im used to it by now I dont care

After a while you get used to being poked and prodded in that way

As I put my clothes on, I realise one of my nails is chipped and falling off

I will have to glue that on later on

I sit back on the chair

They tell me the plan

Which organ or part of my body is not working as they should

I always find it ironic as I am an organ donator

I always think who would want my organs

I exit out the door

Walk through the corridor

Past the waiting room

I smile at the nurse

And then I sit oustide

And contuine playing with my nails

To stop the tears in my eyes that I can feel forming

I will defiently have to fix my nails once I am home.