The door to the clinic on Via Pira is still closed. It's 6:30 a.m., and about twenty people are already queuing at the entrance. It's the dawn of those unfortunates without a family doctor: an army of elderly, young, chronically ill (and otherwise) who were also trying to secure a pass to Ascot yesterday. The door opens, and it's a race to get a number. Thus begins yet another day of passion, with interminable waits just for a prescription.

The wait

The first patient clutches number 66, and after an hour and a half of waiting, shortly after 8 a.m., he enters the office. Outside, the line gradually grows, most of them forced to stand: there are three chairs next to the Ascot door, three more in front. On the other side, there are more seats, but they're far from the office, and no one dares move for fear of missing their turn. "I've been here since 7 a.m.," says Giulia Medde, from Oristano. "I really hope to get prescriptions for my father. I already had to give up on Tuesday and Wednesday because there were 80 people before me." Next to her is another early riser. "I also arrived at 7 a.m., and there were already twenty people waiting," says Gianni Spano. "It's my first time here. I have to fill prescriptions for my 94-year-old aunt, and I'm a bit confused." There's confusion and little information about the service's hours and operation. "I've been without a doctor for a month. Today I came early, but I didn't even realize how many people were already in line," complains Giuseppina Fanari. "It's a very slow system. In three hours, it seems like only a few people came in and out of the office."

Yesterday, Dr. Salvatore Balzano was on duty. Despite his dedication and goodwill, he couldn't see all those patients alone (by midmorning, there were over 60 in line) during the scheduled 8:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. shift. At 11:20 a.m., he announced, "I'll be seeing until 2:00 p.m." That extra hour, however, isn't enough for everyone, so anyone whose number exceeds 100 is invited to return another day.

The protests

"I showed up at the opening to get a prescription for an urgent test scheduled for Monday," Miranda Desogus blurts out. "And now I'm supposed to leave? There's no way I'm going to be able to. I came on Thursday too, and the service was closed. They're constantly changing hours, and there's no constant update on the ASL website. It's an absurd situation." Tensions are rising, the protests are getting more heated, so much so that the security guard urges everyone to tone it down. But it's 11:24 a.m., and after four hours, it's inevitable that someone will start to get impatient. "I've been in line since 8:30 a.m., I have the number D12 (which corresponds to 112), and at this point it seems like there's no hope," Barbara Casti, 82, says in a faint voice, while pacing back and forth with her walker. "Unfortunately, I'm left without a doctor; mine died suddenly, and now we're living in a really difficult situation. Every time I see a different doctor, I need a prescription because I can't afford all my medicines, and my pension isn't enough."