I hate waiting rooms. They’re always freezing cold and eerily quiet. I’ve learned in the last year it’s an unwritten rule. “Once you cross this threshold, no speaking above a whisper.” That conversation you were having just before you walked in, yeah that’s done. Good luck picking it back up when you leave THREE HOURS later. Because that’s the other part of waiting rooms and the doctors offices they guard, you waste your day in them only to see the doctor for about ten minutes.
My distaste wasn’t that strong a year ago. However, for the last six months I feel like I spend my life in waiting rooms. I’ve woken up early, gotten my mother ready as we spend the better part of our morning and afternoon in a waiting room. Waiting for a diagnose, waiting for surgery, waiting for chemo, waiting for a test, and soon waiting for result (that feel like they’re never going to come).
I’m sitting in a waiting room right now, waiting for my mom to finish her PET scan. It’s the last thing in this round of treatment. A hospital stay, a dialysis port switched out for a power port, two nephrostomy tubes, four ureteral stints (orignals and replacements), and six rounds of chemo have left us here, waiting on scan to see if the chemo worked.
After this we’ll go home and wait. The waiting rooms moved from the hospital ot our home and neither of us find comfort in that.