The waiting room is full of us today, anxious people waiting to see our doctor. There are 13 or 14 of us in this room, and in a another one down the hall, 13 or 14 more. This pattern continues on for quite sometime—this is a big place, like factory big. Before we found ourselves here, we were down the hall having our blood drawn for all kinds of tests and reason. Depending on what those tests say we may need more— more blood, more platelets, more chemo, more waiting. For now we sit here dying to find out.

On this day this place is extra busy. I overhear a nurse tell a coworker” we have 105 coming in today.” She sounds sort of like you imagine a warehouse manager to sound, barking off the day’s workload to the rest of the crew. A gentlemen across from me is greeted by a healthcare professional, a woman who introduces herself with a long title. She informs him and his daughter they will be heading into a room shorty to go over some particulars. For now they begin the patient, provider dialogue in the waiting room, and for now 12 or 13 of us listen on intently. Like students in a lecture hall.

The professional informs the patient about the chemotherapy regimen he will undergo; what to expect and the medications he will be taking, leaving no detail uncovered. She hits on the side effects he can expect and some ways to alleviate them. I could write a report on this guy.The professional mentions on the possibility of blood transfusions throughout the process—and then abruptly stops.”Let me check on that room,” she tells him. The rest of the waiting room nods approvingly at her as she exits.

Not a minute later she’s back. Apparently there are no open rooms yet—-it’s just so busy today—-they’re just going to have finish up right here. Goody.

Just when the I’m really starting to get pulled in to this patient’s story, my name is called from the doorway. The lady to my left looks up at me, her eyes tell me what I already know—I’m going to miss the good part, his medical history. Damn. On the way out I remind myself not to be disheartened, next week will offer more of the same waiting room entertainment.

I’m directed towards room six, the doctor will be in a moment.

The doctor enters 15 moments later. He asks me how I feel? Asks me if I have any pain, any shakes? He tells me what I need today, a unit of blood and a unit of platelets. He checks my breathing and listens to my heart and lungs. Sounds good, he says. With a shrug and a smile he is on his way, off to the next room.

As I collect my things, I can hear him in room five, hear him ask the same questions—any pain? He has it down to a science. And with more than a hundred coming in today he is going to have to keep up the frantic pace. Every good worker knows there are only so many moments in a day.

Post to Twitter Tweet This Post