An entire day waiting in a waiting room at the hospital. Not even a room.
Just waiting in the room with the worst title ever. In the room of “waiting.” Nothing good happens here. Terrible magazines. Receptionists that tell you any minute but really that means “you will be here for days.”
It’s the worst of the worst! I think CLUE is missing a room, because I know where all the murders happen. I DO! I’ve cracked this mystery. Its in the waiting room!
I know first hand. I almost murdered someone there today. I am positive it was the “hysterical mother” with the “candlestick” in the WAITING ROOM. Positive. Game over. I win.
Waiting in general = hell
Waiting room= hell’s hell.
This room is waiting with real stakes and other families crying. Oh and don’t forget all the sick children!
That was our day.
And of course, you can’t complain because we are waiting due to an emergency, another person’s suffering. Our surgical team can’t get out of surgery to meet with us. And I cringe writing this as this was NOT a planned surgery. How scary must that be? I should be appreciative.
But I wasn’t…I was seething.
So from 9AM to 3PM we sat there with Jacob asking every 20 minutes when we can go home. It was fun. NO FUN.
And when they finally told us to go home. Even when WE called it at 11AM and said this will most likely be hours not “one hour” as they quoted. We begged can we come another day? Does Jacob really have to sit all day here? Its a hospital its full of germs! We are trying to keep him healthy before surgery. But we do as we are told. Cancer speaks, we listen.
At 3PM they sent us home after 6 hours of waiting.
I lost it.
I try not to lose it. And I’m angry at myself as I’m losing it on the very people that will save my son’s life. Talk about stupid! Don’t want them mad at me.
But I then remember all the stupid people who FLIP on some teacher for putting their child in FOOD when they were supposed to be on BUS. They FLIP. SCREAM. YELL. We ruined their day. So I feel a bit more justified.
Bbut it didn’t make anything better. Nope. Not one bit.
And on the way home out of nowhere Jacob told me I need to be…wait…for…it…
“i need to be more P-A-T-I-E-N-T” (he did not spell it. I’m a good teacher, but not THAT good). He told me not to yell.
I decided not to point out to him that I wasn’t the one that asked every 20 minutes when we were going home. I was more shocked by his choice of words. I only write about patience. I don’t talk to him about patience. He is FIVE. How can he be patient? AND this is not a lesson he needs. He is the most patient five-year old I’ve ever met. So this is not a topic of conversation.
And we get home and Steve calls. The hospital called him. No scan. Not necessary. They won’t really know anything until they are “in there.” Can’t tell if it’s one versus two surgeries. Etc. So I no longer need to come in Wednesday for him.
As I just rescheduled my day to make the scan. Just moved all meetings around for this last-minute scan and now canceled.
And I’m a lucky one. I’m the “boss.” I have control over my schedule. I just don’t understand how a regular person does this. You know the not part of the 1%? How do the 99% do it?!
Not only do you have to watch your child suffer, but your whole lives also implode? What is after cancer? Are you unemployed? Are you even married?
Steve and I are at each others throats and we have a great marriage.
I’ve asked for stats on this. I’ve asked what the divorce rate is. No one will answer this question of course, but one nurse looked at me and said…”high.”
I bet it is.
Another day waiting.
And this time…for nothing.