THE WAITING ROOM

THE WAITING ROOM

Someone told me recently that I had to trust in the Lord more and that where there was fear there could not be faith. It seemed like a good idea when I heard it but sitting here today in the waiting room it is the last thing on my mind. Sorry God but I am scared what this scan will find.

Hello my name is Suzi T , a name that protects me from people whom I don't know and leaves no doubt to people who do know me that it is indeed me. And here I am sitting in yet another waiting room in yet another medical drama starring me.

Not going to bore you with the details. Suffice to say I am queen of all things lumpy. I grow tumours everywhere, sometimes overnight. This confuses the medical fraternity. I tell them I have Cowdens syndrome. They have no idea what that is. More confusion.

So, back to the waiting room. Over many years I have learned to pass the time in waiting rooms by observing others waiting with me. You can learn a lot from observing people...especially when like me they are waiting for treatment.

In front of me two indian women jibber away. I would love to pretend they are not talking about me but bad experiences in Penang and occasional glimpses in my direction confirm my suspicion that I am equally an object of interest.The women look the same and are both pregnant. Suddenly a young man, professionally dressed arrives and seats himself in the middle. He confuses me. He appears to be claiming ownership but I have no idea of which woman  as he gives them equal attention. Could he be husband to both? The jibber rises to a crescendo. The communal husband is obviously very entertaining if you can understand him. I lose interest.

An indigenous woman arrives with a teenage daughter. My mind drifts immediately to a converation I had at work about young girls being pregnant. I wonder if she is here for that reason .The mother (or more likely the Nanna), talks incessantly on the phone and the girl looks relieved to not have to communicate at this early hour.

A lady walks in pushing a teenage person in a wheelchair. I say person because they have this androgenous look to them and I am not sure if the person is a male or a female. I cringe as the lady wipes dribble from its mouth and wonder how some people have such inner stregth to be able to care for a child with a disability. People think I have inner strength and that may be so but I think that carers of the disabled have a reserved spot in heaven.

9 am and yes still waiting. Gotta love the public health system. The corridors have been taken over by a number of people well over the age of 70. One grey haired love calls to me as she passes on her walker that she is doing her exercise. I have a sudden urge to walk with her but cant cos I am still waiting. She can only manage one lap. The few younger ones keep going lap after lap. One young woman is in the pack. She is trim and fit and I wonder what her story is. She smiles at me and I smile back. Wonderful thing a smile - in a few muscle moves we acknowledge that there are other places we would rather be.

Androgenous person has gone in and shortly after its finally my turn. They are 50 minutes late but not an apology passes their lips. This makes me cross but I bite my lip and twist and turn for the x ray machine. I am asked to wait in a chair next to androgenous person and his carer. Yes its a teen boy and I find out that his carer has looked after him two days a week since he was four months old. He is in a shitty mood cos he doesn't like hospitals. I warm to him immediately. This is my kind of kid...except for the dribble. How does she do that without flinching. I am humbled by this person.

A very, very young woman comes to prep me for a catscan. She talks non stop, asking me question after question. Suddenly I am really tired of all this and decide to be difficult. Childish I know. She is on to me but I don't care. How could anyone so young know anything. This is surely a waste of time.

Radiation is bombarded through my body and I remember the words above. With fear there can be no place for faith. I pray for help and good news and it has a tiny calming effect on me.

The chatterbox  returns and I am given some standard dribble I could recite backwards. Yes thank you too. Have fun looking at my lumps. I am out of here.

I make eye contact with the Indian women on the way out. It is the briefest of farewells.

Till next time...