In this memory, I am five years old. A few times a year, I catch a cold and my mother takes me to the local hospital along with my little brother.
Once at the hospital, my mother registers us at the reception desk, and we wait in the hallway sitting on one of the benches. For some reason, by the time we come to the hospital, I am not feeling too sick anymore. After a while, my brother and I start roaming around the hallway, exploring different benches and watching people sitting on them.
When our turn comes, my mother calls us, and we all go into the pediatrician’s room located at the far end of the hallway, where we receive the doctor’s diagnosis.
Then comes the long waiting period in the hallway once again. This time, we wait for the prescriptions. My mother knows that we will get bored soon without some kind of entertainment.
Next to the reception desk is a staircase that leads to the basement. In the basement, there are a few vending machines.
“Sweetie, get a juice from the vending machine downstairs,” says my mother, handing me a few coins from her purse. “It’s your treat!”
Delighted, I run down to the basement. There are many different kinds of juice on the vending machine, but I already know which one I want: an apple juice.
I insert the coins my mother gave me, and press the button for a package of apple juice. As soon as the package drops in the dispenser with a light thud, I grab it and run back upstairs.
While I am purchasing my apple juice, my mother gives my brother a tiny package of toddler apple juice that she had brought from home. When I come back, my brother and I walk to the windows at the end of the hallway, each with a package of apple juice in our hand.
We both stand in front of the window, sipping the apple juice and gazing at the parking outside. This is our favourite moment of this hospital visit. We forget about everything else and get lost in the apple juice magic until my mother calls us again. It is now time to go home.