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Catwalk queens of the Johannesburg municipal clinics

Nie Cele

Nie Cele

It’s well and good to heed the advice of government and avoid overcrowding at public hospitals by heading for community health centres for treatment of minor injuries and illnesses.

But once you’ve accepted the horror of snaking queues, it’s quite an experience.
Gone are the comforting nurses’ uniforms and doctors’ coats in favour of miniskirts, inch-thick make-up and glamorous hairdos that turn the corridors into catwalks.
Constant top-volume prattle from staff on topics entirely unrelated to matters medical will have you believe you’re watching Oprah, and the only item that distinguishes those in the profession from clerks and cleaners is the ubiquitous stethoscope. Considering most nurses carry them nowadays you’ve not a clue who’s doctor and who’s nurse. It’s enough to have Florence Nightingale rise from her slumber and reach for her lamp.
To make matters worse, some clerks are so inefficient and classify you as the wrong gender on your clinic card. While waiting for hours on end, you become the new-and-improved Mr Min, inching ever closer to the front, bench by bench. Government needs to act before our local clinics become fully-fledged fashion shows, finish and klaar.
citybeat@caxton.co.za

Published on February 16, 2010 at 2:19 pm