Number 75

The waiting room was spacious. The lay-out of the furniture was calculated perfectly. Different seating arrangements for every need. The water provided for the guests had fresh sliced fruit in it for flavor. There were even hot, moist towels available to use. Each patient received a random number at check-in for their accompanying party. I'm sure the randomly assigned numbers were put in place so people couldn't simply figure out who's who if they paid attention to the order of arrival of incoming patients. The days of being called by name were long gone. Federal privacy laws had moved on in full force, tightening their grip on corporate regulations. The thing is, people don't like to be numbers. Statistical or otherwise. Eventually anyone who listened just enough could figure out what was going on with each party present in that waiting room. Some people were trying to be more discreet than others. The older gentleman across from me answered his phone. In a normal tone of voice he began his conversation with "can you hear me? I'm trying to whisper..". I lowered my head so I wouldn't get caught snickering at him. Only a few minutes later, the pregnant young girl sitting three chairs down from him answered her phone. It turned into a very lengthy conversation and she had no concerns about who was listening. By the time she got off the phone everyone knew she was banking on a multimillion dollar settlement even though her concern was for her loved one to make it through surgery. The elderly woman behind me was called to bring her husband's clothes into the recovery area, but her daughter had left her to go to her own doctor's appointment and the old lady seemed helpless without her. The attending staff alloted her more time to wait for her daughter's return. Then there was the largest party in the waiting room, taking up the circular seating arrangement in the center. They were cheerful throughout the wait. One of them went to the gift shop and returned with a talking toy for their loved one undergoing surgery. They became giddy and rather loud as they each took turns playing with it. It was not a gift for a child, this was the adult unit after all. It was meant as a gag, presumably to cheer up their loved one. They stopped playing with it and their mood became somber only after the surgeon came out to speak to the matron of the family. Apparently the news received were not what they expected or hoped for. The young mother in the front corner crossed the room to use the bathroom. On her way back she stopped to talk to an elderly lady waiting in a recliner, inquiring if she was holding up okay. Her mother, she said, was undergoing the same procedure the elderly lady's loved one was having. So much for numbers. The older gentleman who called himself having a hushed conversation on his phone, ended up with a middle aged woman sitting right next to him and they engaged in a cocktail party sort of conversation. Each going into detail about their careers and families, including going into specific details about the procedures their loved ones were having as they were waiting. They seemed pleased with one another when it was time to say goodbye as the middle aged woman was called to be with her loved one in recovery. Then my time came to be called. I never saw the elderly lady's daughter return for her, she was still waiting when I left. Shortly after getting into the recovery area that older gentleman came back there to be with his wife of 63 years. It didn't go so smooth. Their entire conversation was directed at each other. They were not communicating with each other. It's the hollowness of empty years spent together. Living along side each other as perfect strangers. It still unsettles me when I watch people interact with each other without connecting. There was more warmth between him and the complete stranger he had a conversation with in the waiting area than between him and the woman he has lived with for the last 63 years. I didn't have to watch for too long, the time had come to be discharged home. The lanky transporter chauffeured the wheelchair out front to valet parking. The traffic in the drop-off circle was just as busy that late in the day as when we first arrived. A business van blocked the traffic flow. You could see the driver on the phone, wildly gesturing his free hand in the air. I rolled my eyes and said out loud "he doesn't know where he is supposed to go". We were patiently waiting as more people and more cars piled up in the small circle. "We'll never get out of here" I said, shaking my head and then belted out "Jesus take the wheel!" The transporter bursted out laughing as we watched the driver miraculously move out of the way, and our vehicle was maneuvered to the front for us to get in. I thanked the transporter and the valet guy before I got in the car, grateful that everything went as smoothly as it did and number 75 made it home safe and sound. ~•~ a beautiful milieu Image Paco Garzón https://www.instagram.com/pacogarzonphoto/