Get 'em out by Friday? Lol!

The more I glance at the clock, the slower the hands seem to move. All the willing in the world, only seems to prolong the agony of waiting. The ward is quiet for a Saturday. That's part of the problem, nobody sensible to have their cage rattled. I check the clock again. The minute hand hasn't even budged an inch. I let out a long drawn out sigh, the sound reverberating around the silent ward.

*Tick, tick, tick*. The bedside tv chatters away to itself through my headphones. I watch on with vague disinterest as an ice trucker tries to free his load from the thick snow.  My eyes loose focus, I force myself to focus, attempting to remember some small innane detail, but it's no use. My gaze slips down to the digital clock instead, and begin counting down the seconds till the number flips over. 1458... 1459... 1500.

Pumpkin time: 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Officially 24 hours spent waiting for transport to take me home. I glance at Dad, catching his eye, I break out into a manic grin and laugh. At least I think it was a laugh. It was loud and made my sides shake, and my belly ache. My face hurt from the effort of the smile. Dad rubbed his chin, his jaw tense, the muscle twitching. Without a word he hauled himself to his feet. He looked tired. Grabbing his phone from the bedside table amongst the plastic bags full of medications, he left.

Bored stiff... Literally!

The laughter came to a shuddering holt. Footsteps, followed by a heavy rumbling. I sat up, ears pricked towards the sound like a jackal preparing to run for its life. The sound came closer. My heart began to beat, and the sweat started to build on my brow. Maybe... just maybe the wait was over. Trust Dad to go now! The rumbling grew, deep like the booming voice of thunder. My shoulders slumped as a Peter bearing a metal cage laden with goods approached. My eyes shot heavenward in silent despair.

As the cage rolled by out of sight, my tongue shot out in futile rebellion. Bitterly disappointed, I lay back down, muttering darkly under my breath. Familiar footsteps. I didn't bother glancing up as Dad approached, I was too busy sulking. We sat in silence, listening to the hushed chat of the other patients and their visitors, ears straining unconsciously for any sign of the missing ambulance and their crew.

1615. Medication time. My nurse shuffled in, head down, hoping against hope to get in, deliver the meds and leave again without attracting attention. With a deep sigh, she placed a hand on the curtain. The game was over before it had truly begun.
"Are, they you are." Said Dad, rising to his feet. "Did you manage to speak to transport again?" The nurses eyes widened, like a deer caught before a hunter.

"Ah. Er yes." She replied trying hard to hide the tremble in her voice. "They say they will definitely be here by 1730" I chocked on thin air. Dad was turning a worrying shade of red, the veins standing out on his temple. Drawing himself to his full height, he coolly replied, "another hour and a half?! Are you kidding? Have you not noticed a pattern? Every time we call it's the same. We'll be another hour a half. At this rate we won't be going home tonight either." He paused drawing breath. The nurse opened her mouth to respond, before thinking better of it.

"I have spent hours sat in this chair. I love my daughter, but this is intolerable." The dam keeping in my emotions burst and cascaded out of my mouth in a torrent of anger.
"We have better things to do then sit here and be lied to, fobbed off and blanked." I hissed. "You keep telling us they're coming, but where are they? I was meant to be seeing my best friend today, who I haven't seen in nearly 4 years. And instead, I'm waiting on you lot to get your bloody act together! I'm sick of you telling me that you can't do anything. That nobody in this hospital can do anything. I don't believe you!" Dad nodded fervently, continuing the barrage.

"Before you think you don't have an interest in this, you might like to consider the fact that we are trying to think of positive things to say about the wards conduct in our official complaint to the chief executive. However, that can very easily change" the colour drained out of the nurses face. "Now: whose in charge?!"