Waiting rooms

When I was a child, waiting rooms were almost a mark of distinction.  The longer you had to wait, the better the doctor was.  The shorter you had to wait, the sicker you were.  Luckily for me, it was usually the former rather than the latter.  But I would not be surprised if, added up, I’ve spent a few weeks out of my life waiting in some doctor’s office or another.

My ophthalmologist was the worst.  You could expect to wait absurdly long at any appointment with him, mainly because he squeezed every possible appointment in.  My pulmonologist was the best, mainly because I was usually coming to him when I couldn’t breathe, which I guess is important.

Now it’s not as excruciating, with phones and iPads and many other distractions… far cry from doing my school reading in an array of waiting rooms during my childhood.  But it’s still the same drill, waiting, anticipating, sometimes worrying.  And doing it all over again all too soon.

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