Man In Waiting

jhaznaw
Aug 17
4 min read

As I get older (and if you haven’t seen me lately, trust me, I AM getting older), I spend a good amount of time in doctor’s offices for various reasons: some routine and ordinary, others, chronic or acute. I’m fine, it just comes with the territory.

The tough part about doctor visits is sitting in exam rooms waiting for what or who is coming at us next. I find these experiences to be among both the most boring and anxiety-producing in my current life.

It’s boring because, well, when you’re waiting for a doctor, or a technologist, nurse or PA to visit, there’s nothing else to do. It is, after all, an exam room. No TV, no tabletop video games, no live entertainment, no magazines. Nothing, except maybe a detailed poster of whatever body part(s) the physician du jour specializes in. Of course, I have my phone with me (god forbid I’d leave it at home or in the car), but for me, my phone also bores me quite a bit.

Beyond the boredom, the exam room is also a place of high anxiety (for me, anyway) because, well, you’re at the doctor for a reason, and that reason is to find out something about yourself. And that “something” is a condition or symptom you can’t figure out, and so you've decided the best person to offer an opinion is a medical specialist of some kind. So that, in and of itself, is anxiety producing.

But now add the factors of being alone and waiting without anything to take my mind off of why I’m there, and the anxiety meter really ramps up (for me, anyway).

The last time I was in an exam room (waiting for an orthopedic surgeon to give me news about my hip ... it will be replaced), I was thinking about all the things I’ve just covered.

And today, I decided to write a little “thing” (not sure what to call it), about a guy who’s in just that situation. It’s fictional, but pretty much sums up how I feel when I’m “in waiting.”

Here I sit, helpless … and wondering.

I had the test 20 minutes ago, and the technologist said the doctor would walk me through the results “in just a little bit.” I’m starting to get nervous.

(1 minute later) Why is it taking so long? Is it because it’s bad news or are they just really busy? Maybe they forgot about me? No, they’d never do that … would they?

(2 minutes later) Ooh! I hear people talking in the hallway. What are they talking about? My situation? Or is it just office small talk? I heard someone laugh. Maybe they’re just gossiping. Is it about me? Are they laughing at me?

(3 minutes later) OK, it’s been, like, 20 minutes (it's been 6), and with every minute, whatever is potentially wrong begins to amplify in my head. Now I’m feeling like a hypochondriac. Am I a hypochondriac?

(1 minute later) Ironic. I’m sitting under these bright florescent lights, yet I feel completely in the dark. It must be bad news, and the staff is playing “rock-paper-scissors” to determine who will tell me.

(3 minutes later) God, it’s been, like, three HOURS, and all I can think of is the worst-case scenario. I need to prepare for it. OK, if it’s bad, what do I need to do? Who do I need to notify? How will my daily life change?

(2 minutes later) I think I’m getting a sore throat. Are my glands swollen? (feels glands; they aren’t swollen). Wait, that’s not even why I came in!

(30 seconds later) I’m spinning, though you can’t tell by looking at me. It’s all “up there,” in my head. On the outside, I’m sitting still and upright, not moving except for my right foot which I can’t stop tapping as it keeps time with my elevated heart rate. I don’t want to get up and walk around because I feel like if you’re not sitting in your assigned place when the doc comes in, they think you’ve been snooping around in here.

(1 minute later) OK, I hear footsteps … and more talking. Maybe this is it. Maybe the doctor is finally coming in to talk to me. I hope so, but I also hope not. I need the information, but I don’t know that I want it. Thing is, I feel fine. These tests were routine when I came in for my exam, but the doc said she found something “different.” That was her word … different. She said it was probably nothing to worry about, yet all I’ve done since that first visit is worry.

Oh shit. The talking stopped. Now, it’s silent … dead silent. I hear the trademark soft knock on the door ... the door opens. Here we go …

(10 minutes later in the parking, on the phone with Joanie) Everything went great. I’m healthy!