The Waiting Room

"...they also serve who only stand and wait." Sonnet XIX, John Milton

The revolving door opens into a doctor's waiting room. It’s full of sick people. It’s a desolate place.

We’ve all sat in these rooms before. It starts early in life, this waiting. Our parents waited for our birth. They were shocked to see a red, shriveled, screaming organism. As years progress, we keep coming back to the doctor’s waiting room!

Patient 48551 has a heart condition. He walks into the stale atmosphere of the cardiac waiting room. There’s a certain air of seriousness in the room...two heartbeats from eternity is no laughing matter. The whispered buzz of steady conversation fills the room’s vacuity. Eyes dart in avoidance of others. A collective nervous anxiety hangs heavily in the room.

Strangers whisper out of a need for relief. Responses are perfunctory. "You don't say?" or "Really?" or "My, that's interesting." No one seems to be sincere. Communication attempts to relieve the trepidation that heart patients feel.

He notices it, the wall clock. The second hand tolls time's slow demise…tick, tick, tick. An omen for some, perhaps, reminding them they forgot to repent. It sets a somber scene.

Out of sheer boredom, Patient 48551 studies intently the ever-changing crowd of ‘Waiters.’ Colonies of germs occupy the irrelevant and dated waiting-room magazines. Who needs to waste precious last moments on this drivel? Other distractions are plentiful.

The incessant ticking annoys him. He avoids it by imagining the lives of those waiting. He assures himself it’s not out of some sick amusement. They’re probably doing likewise. Delusion is entertaining in cardiac waiting rooms. As they fidget, he finds clues in their faces, clothing, language, and posture. Imagine the possibilities, he conjectures.

Consumed by his own charade, Patient 48551 begins to morph, making peculiar facial movements, tics, blinks, and fidgets. He attempts to confuse anyone trying to caricature him. He smiles, thinking, "I wonder what role they have me in...Bogart or Brando?" Which would he choose? He muses.

A nurse announces, "Mr. Hematoma, time for your procedure." Asian perhaps, he thinks. Later, "Mrs. Angina, the doctor is ready for you." Italian for sure…a beauty. Pity, so young. The voice again calls, "Mr. A-fib, your time.” A Muslim, maybe. “Hello, Mr. Lipitor. Ready?” Obviously Jewish. On and on it goes. ‘The Waiters’ wait their turn.

Patient 48551 is finally called. In a few minutes he emerges with a big smile. Today’s results are negative, which is positive for heart patients. Free to go, until the next time. And there will be a next time.

The clock is the last thing he sees as he leaves. Its ticking mocks those still waiting. But it reminds him of something. Time runs out for everyone, sooner or later. But for him, not today. Destiny is delayed again!

He hopes that when his time does run out he will no longer be a number, but a name!

Bud Hearn
May 5, 2011