Waiting Room Etiquette

Waiting Room Etiquette 

 There is no other time in your life when waiting seems so long as when you’re sick. It doesn’t matter if you’re sitting in a chair at the doctor’s office or waiting for a procedure – it’s hard to wait. Lately I’ve begun to wonder if there are rules for waiting. You know, some kind of secret waiting room etiquette. I started thinking about this last week when my nerves were especially shot and I wasn’t feeling like obeying ANY rules.

I’m a wiggler anyway, but tell me to sit still and I can find a bazillion things that need my attention. That includes my hands as well as my mind. Somehow sitting in a room full of strangers only serves to magnify the truth that I don’t have control over certain areas of my life right now.

After the liver tumor growth news, I vowed to chill out and stay calm during my waiting time. I checked in at the desk where the receptionist gave me a smile of satisfaction and a bright purple laminated number. She made a checkmark on the line beside my name. It was going well for her on this day. Everyone was seated and looking at their own colorful numbers, their phones, or the blaring television.

I made a beeline to the far corner. I managed to sit quietly for all of 2 minutes before I purposefully slunk out of my chair and onto the floor and twisted myself into a yoga pose. Closing my eyes, I tuned out everyone and everything around me and focused on breathing.

 Each inhale drew in more than just air. I was drawing in life and love from the universe. I was filtering out every distracting thought and sound. Each exhale released anxiety from my tense muscles. It also brought a lot of stares from the other waitees.

Suddenly, I felt self-conscious. It swear I heard my mama’s voice admonishing a 6 year old me to quit wallering in the floor and sit up straight like a young lady. Meekly, and with as much dignity as possible, I crawled back up into my chair. Then I began to compare my position to that of the others in the same room. Some were slumped over and half asleep. Others had their laps piled high with clear zipper bags full of pills or crochet needles and balls of yarn. Most were still staring at the television screen.

When entering a waiting area, I try and sit as far as possible from the blaring box hanging in the corner. You do know they hang them up high so that people like me can’t reach them, don’t you? I learned this from a receptionist who came out and made me get off the chair when I was trying to change the channel a few years back.

I was on treatment for the Hepatitis C Virus and was slumped down – basically bald – and not very happy about it. There on the screen was a woman whose bouncy hair was being twisted into an updo. Watching her smile with her good posture and thick mane held no appeal for me. Actually, the Riba rage tempted me to go yank her pony tail out. Instead I opted to turn her off. That’s when I learned that there was a remote and I did not have the privilege of using it. The receptionist said it wasn’t safe for me to climb up on the furniture either. How could I have known that? My first lesson in waiting room etiquette.

After slithering on the floor just now, I was once again feeling a sudden awareness of waiting room rules. I turned toward the screen to watch. Two people in a studio were talking loudly about something on a table. Their words were too fast to be understood without an interpreter. I squinted and craned my neck to see what was on the table that was causing such an uproar.

Chattering at a feverish pitch, it wasn’t hairstyles they were discussing, but a smart baby pacifier. It has a Bluetooth that sends signals to the parents of how often the baby sucks on it … Blah blah blah… it had a tracking device so you couldn’t lose it and was dishwasher safe. Blah blah blah…. This feature and that button…. Blah blah blah. They had ingested way too much caffeine.

Talk about nerves being shot. Mine were shot to hell after listening to them. I checked my fellow waitees response. Some were nodding appreciatively like they may go buy a space age pacifier on the way home. Others stared into the distance without even hearing the jib jabbering going on above their heads on the screen. Many sat quietly as though they saw battery operated devices in babies mouths all the time.

The talk show hosts continued their cartoon chimpmunk banter, interrupting one another as though it were a competition. One did seem to speak louder, but the one in the brightly colored tie was faster. A new patient joined our group, leaning on her walker, clutching her yellow number as she walked to her seat. Her etiquette was impeccable. She never took her eyes off the amazing pacifier on display as she quietly sat down.

I felt like an outsider. I was the only one who had sat in the lotus position and didn’t care about pacifiers. Did everyone else know a new secret waiting room rule? I began to think about what that might be. The first thing I thought of was to sit still until my name or number is called. Ok. I can do that.

Now I was staring right at the television and noticed that it had gotten much louder. A commercial showed a family eating spaghetti when a man suddenly started shouting about what a tough job it was going to be to wash the dishes. The lady with the ball of yarn’s jaw dropped when she saw the bubbles and the sparkling casserole pan. I stared for a moment trying to care. For a split second, I almost felt alarmed about the burnt-on cheese. Nah. Not that much. It just didn’t work for me.

Instead of worrying about the dishes, I got out my phone and asked a young girl with a turquoise number 13 to take my pic as I settled back into a yoga pose. She held my phone and snapped away. After we checked to be sure my nostrils weren’t flaring, or my eyes weren’t closed, I simply stayed in the floor. I just breathed. It felt so good that I let my crunchy bones settle into a child’s pose and heaved an audible sigh of relief. The dueling morning show hosts were back with a story about a politician who was losing popularity. What is this world coming to? Whoever heard of that? Who cares?

Right then, I knew my time would be best spent talking to myself instead of inwardly criticizing the talking heads in the box up near the ceiling. I slowly guided my thoughts toward unity with God in a miraculous healing. I felt strong. I imagined myself at age 80 with good posture walking in a forest with some really hot hiking boots. I had a thick pony tail that swung with each step.

I lost track of time and soon heard them call my number. Standing up, I made a slurping noise to clean up the drool that was making its way toward the floor. Then I smiled at the receptionist who was looking around for Number 12. Her waiting room routine was filled with a calm quiet group who obviously understood waiting room etiquette.

 Me? I had created my own waiting room rule: Be comfortable. Speak quiet, powerful faith filled words to yourself. Visualize your body strong and whole. 

I had only been there for 15 minutes, but it seemed like a lifetime. Maybe next trip I will bring a high tech pacifier to suck on.

If you’re at Integris and see me, say HI! I’ve met a few best friends there! I love you… Karen:)

Check out the blogs I found for you by clicking the link below:

Best Friends Start Here 

pics via endalldisease.com, Karen at Integris,