Waiting
In a possibly cruel masterstroke, I called my brother this morning as I was getting ready to go to a doctor for the upteenth time (another doctor, this time replacing Dad’s GP who moved to a different clinic. I tell you, it’s pretty tough to keep track). I called my bro because I thought, “Shit, he’s here, he could sit in and listen first hand,” which he’s been unable to do before. Perhaps it was a mite sadistic since he was a 45 minute drive from town and sleeping the sleep of the travel-weary (and it was 7:45 am), but what the hell, right?
Anyhoo, he reasonably opted to go back to sleep. I scooped up Dad, hobbled by both his little porta-potty strapped to his ankle, and this rather mystifying limp gimping him up. With both a cane and a catheter, he’s had to adopt a graceful fall into my car, hoping that he doesn’t snag his catheter on the way down and create even more of a little crisis than he’s already got. Yep, it isn’t romantic.
Into another waiting room we went. There we sat, biding our time after so many other waiting rooms. Except today the phone rang: my brother, and he was about a mile away. The little squirt couldn’t fall back asleep and made the trip anyway, curse me to hell. And now it’s the three of us, crammed into a dinky examination room, all biding our time together. But it’s perfect, right, because it’s us three instead of us two.
And, since this seems to be part and parcel of our experience, we wait, and wait, and wait.
Luckily for us, I had received an email with a friend’s music video that just came out and I showed them on my phone. I don’t know if nurses or staff make a habit of listening at the door when they hear barking guffaws from an exam room, but today they would have heard three laughing hyenas listening to this song (I suppose I should warn of potentially, um, offensive [and VIVID] language):
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w5U-YT-mRmI]
Which, if you have to bide your time in an exam room, it’s a pretty good way to do it, really.
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