When out in the hall, there arose such a clatter
“I’m tellin’ ya, these kids. There’s an inch of snow and they don’t go to school. Back when I was a kid in Pawtucket we’d be walkin’ to school with snow up to our waists.”
“Yeah, and there weren’t hardly any buses then, neither.”
“But we had great tv shows. That one with Archie Bunker. The wife and I watch reruns every night from eight to 10. They don’t make TV shows like that anymore.”
“And remember Jackie Gleason. That was a show.”
“Art Carney made that show… Did I tell ya about those fake Social Security calls going around? Took down the numbers this morning and went to the State Police to file a complaint. I bet they do nothin’.”
“Yeah, I get calls every day from some disability service.”
“It’s a disgrace, I’ll tell ya. Even worse is that the state pays $6,000 for a plastic Christmas tree at the VA hospital, but they won’t pay for a holiday dinner for my wife and kids. Just me.”
And so went the conversation between two guys in the doctor’s small waiting room, non-stop complaining. The traffic, the schools, the doctors, the roads, the governor, robocalls, disrespectful kids, negligent parents, bad bosses, bad weather.
One was 68 years-old, 20 years in the Coast Guard, worked the day shift at the plant and his wife worked the night shift, and has been having foot problems since his stroke, which resulted from a blood clot after neck surgery. The other was a slender 55-year-old with epilepsy, foot problems and boss problems. (Amazing what personal information strangers give out in minutes.)
When out in the hall, there arose such a clatter
I was trying hard to keep my head down and my mouth shut, reading a book while waiting for my husband.
I was about to say something unhelpful to the complainers when all of a sudden, there was a clatter in the stairwell outside the waiting room, like Rudolph and Santa and the sleigh were falling down a fire escape.
A couple of minutes later a woman wearing a big silver parka and polka-dotted rubber boots pushed herself into the waiting room, leaning on her beat-up walker, visibly sweating and smiling.
“Wow. I did it. I got here,” she said triumphantly. “Even those stairs.”
She willfully slid one misbehaving foot across the rug, and then the other to get to a seat. Such concentration and determination.
As she got settled the receptionist called the Coast Guard patient into the office, and a new conversation started.
“You on disability like me,” the man with epilepsy asked her.
“Yes. I’ve been out for a year. I work as a gambling addiction counselor. Now if I go into Foxwoods and lose five dollars, I’m out of there.”
“That’s a good one. Five and done. The disability is tough though,” he said, changing the subject to connect on a complaining level. “They really try to make you go back too soon.”
“Yes, but at least I know I’ll have a job when I go back in January. And I’ve been able to do a lot of writing,” she replied.
“Yeah, it’s good to get stuff off your chest.”
“Not that kind of writing. I’ve been writing to my local reps, my senators, the governor’s office about the need for more money for caregivers. Being in a rehab facility for so long, I saw some real problems. The staff was so over-worked and there weren’t enough people to really help the patients…How long have you had epilepsy? How often do you have seizures? My 29-year-old son got epilepsy seven years ago when his Lupus went into his brain.”
“Had it since I was a teenager. That’s why work is so hard. And I can’t drive.”
“Do you have a counselor,” she asked him.
“Yeah, but they keep telling me about other jobs I could do. I’m 55 for crying out loud. I don’t want a job at my age.”
“Counselors can help with other things, too, you know. They can help beyond the work stuff. There are always options.”
Just then my husband pushed his Rollator out of the doctor’s office, and we left the waiting room.
Choosing to be OK
Halfway down the hall, I stopped and ran back to the waiting room.
“Thank you,” I said to the woman. “For your mindset and optimism.”
She looked at me like I was a crazy woman, and then smiled, her bright eyes matching her joyful polka-dotted Wellies and her spirit.
Her challenges seemed so much greater than those of the complainers.
But she chose to be OK. Celebrating stairs. Advocating for others. Thankful for a waiting job.
I used to hate the tediousness of waiting in waiting rooms.
Now I see them as my greatest teacher.
