Friday, April 6, 2012

the waiting room

There is something jarring about a hospital waiting room. People sit in the waiting rooms with expectation. Whether its good news or bad news - they want news. Everyone wants to hear something. We are impatient people...

As we sat in the waiting room, anyone who walked by in scrubs got an expectant look. We had been up since 5am and the carbs from the bagels has long worn off. We were getting grumpy. They told us the operation would take 5 hours. So we waited 5 hours. And then we got nervous.

Others came in and out of the room. They sat, read, looked around trying to avoid eye contact mostly. Except one man, who apologized repeatedly for bothering us - he was just so nervous. He had no one to wait with him, his expectant looks went unnoticed by anyone but him. He felt alone. He was scared. It was his wife, and he was scared.

I was scared and I knew my mom was too. She spoke a lot, more than normal when the 5 hour mark had come and gone. "We should have heard something by now"...."do you think we should ask someone"...."surely they have to be done by now".

My response was a smile and a deep breath reassuring her that her expectant looks and questions were heard but they would have to remain unanswered. There are so many questions I can't answer for her, so I look around for someone to notice my stare. Not a single sign of recognition. I could only sit with the unanswered questions for so long.

I got up to stretch my legs. Took a walk down the hall. I noticed I swing my arms a lot when I walk and maybe I have gained a couple pounds because my ankles felt heavy. Should I be thinking about more serious things? Should I be praying? Why wasn't I praying? I started to worry - it was hour number 7.

I couldn't help but think everyone walking around today looked too normal. Didn't they know my Dad was going in for a major operation? Shouldn't they have perceived that today was a hard day on me? I am in a hospital, afterall. This was not a normal day for me. Shouldn't their looks and gentle smiles be more sympathetic?  Someone get me flowers, buy my coffee. Nothing.

I started to think perhaps this is how I walk around the streets of Philadelphia everyday. Head directed inward to my own thoughts, not thinking about how the woman walking towards me is feeling. And to be honest, most of the time I don't care. Because I am busy. And I probably can't help. And because she wouldn't care enough to tell me or talk to me about her private issue. No one talks anymore.

 The looks of expectation and worry in a hospital room are so much more obvious in their context.  Would I notice them if I were walking around Rittenhouse Square on a beautiful mid 70's Sunday afternoon while drinking my delicious iced vanilla chai? Maybe somewhere along the line I stopped looking around.

I sit back down. My mother looks at me and smiles, she rubs my arm and asks how my walk was. I nod, "fine".  When in reality, my level of anxiety about life and death and all of the heartbreak that happens in between has been heightened from a 4 to a 28 in the matter of ten minutes. Silence. I hear foot steps behind me. I spin my head more dramatically than I would have liked and startle my Mom. A doctor. My breath stops as if it's a reflex to seeing a man in a white coat.

"Everything's fine...he's going to be fine"......

1 comment:

Andrew Yasso said...

Thanks for sharing. I hope you're well. Continuing to pray.