Meet My New Friends

Observations from the doctor's office lobby

Every so often, my mom needs an injection in her back for pain relief. After the appointment, she’s not supposed to operate a vehicle for a few hours. So, she asked if I could be her driver today. Considering she brought me into the world, I figure it’s the least I can do. I found myself sitting in the lobby of the clinic while my mom was with the doctor. I find human behavior far more interesting than scrolling through social media feeds. So, while there, I took an interest in my surroundings and the lovely people coming and going from the facility.

At first, I sat beside a lady who coughed more than once. This raised a red flag since I’m a recovering germaphobe. I looked at her to gauge the situation, wondering if I should relocate to another seat with better air quality. I noticed she had a miniature bottle of hand sanitizer dangling from her purse strap like a glorious little Christmas ornament. All was forgiven. Clearly, she was my kind of person. And when I saw her cover her cough with the inside of her jacket, this was even more apparent. I was about to break the ice by asking how she was doing. But just then, her husband came limping out into the lobby. He looked like a member of the Grateful Dead, and I liked him immediately. “That didn’t take long,” said the cough-ridden woman as she stood and hobbled off with her hippie husband.

Where were they going? How long had they been married? Why was the man there today? Since my psychic dial was set to “off”, I suppose I’ll never know. That’s how it goes with waiting room encounters. One must strike up a conversation quickly, or the moment drifts away like leaves from an autumn tree.

The next character in this little play was a man in his mid-thirties sitting directly across from me. A shooting bullseye decal on his hoodie led me to believe he is ex-military. He was nearly doubled over in his seat, looking like a candy cane with beady little eyes. He held his cell phone so close to his eyes that his nose practically touched the screen. On his feet, he wore socks inside sandals – always a bold fashion statement, for better or worse. That said, I’m far from a fashion icon myself. I was sporting a Mickey Mouse t-shirt covered by an unzipped jacket displaying my favorite soccer team. Truly a clash in styles and genres.

The nurse called the military man’s name, and he rose to his feet. Before he left my life forever, I noticed that he wore a splint on his pinky finger. I can’t help but wonder if he injured it using a lethal tactic he learned in special ops… like throat-striking a person with his littlest digit or fish-hooking someone until they divulged classified information. Truth be told, he probably injured it playing tug of war with his dog or something mundane like the rest of us. But I think it’s more fun to speculate about elaborate backstories instead.

For a few moments, there was a lull in the lobby. I was forced to endure pharmaceutical commercials on TV. You know, the type where the commentator spends thirty seconds explaining the benefits of the drug followed by three minutes of side effects that might kill a person. All the while, the commercial’s actors play pickleball or take cooking lessons or offer piggyback rides to their grandkids… all to make them appear youthful so the drug will sell more units. These commercials are like nails on a chalkboard for my brain.

Thankfully, reprieve came in the form of two fancifully dressed women – mother and daughter, from what I could tell. Immediately, I wanted them to welcome me into their family like an adopted labradoodle. They seemed so friendly and warm. They spoke with an elegance that contained traces of an accent I couldn’t quite place. The ladies seemed regal and dignified yet approachable. They responded to each others’ comments with “Mmmm,” and “Mmmm hmmm,” making it seem like they were agreeing with a minister’s sermon rather than conversing about everyday topics.

The mom appeared to be sixty-five or maybe seventy. She wore a white neck brace that starkly contrasted her beautiful, black skin. While waiting to be called on, she phoned her pharmacy to inquire about her prescription status. I could hear her saying things like, “Something else. Prescription status. Talk to a real person.” While most people stumble through automated operators with irritation, she did so with grace and patience. When she finally got a real person on the line, she discovered her prescription had not yet been called in. I waited for her to exhale or roll her eyes, but she didn’t. She merely thanked the person for their time and insisted she would try again later.

I looked at the neck brace, and then I looked back into her soulful eyes. I wished there was something I could do to make her day better. I hoped there was a happy ending to her current situation. For a brief second, I rose to my feet and decided to offer the ladies some hot coffee from the front desk area down the hall. But just then, her name was called, so I sat back down. She strolled through the double doors accompanied by her daughter and the nurse. The woman appeared to glide or float rather than walk. I do hope they call her prescription in soon. Maybe her angels can pull some strings on her behalf.

I didn’t have time to ponder this notion for long. Just then, another nurse came through a different set of doors. She was pushing a patient in a wheelchair. It was an elderly man holding a cane.

“How’s the cane working out for you lately?” asked the nurse.

He smiled. “Pretty well, I’d say. I can whap someone on the head if they step out of line.” He chuckled a raspy, mischievous laugh as they cruised on by.

I couldn’t help but grin. At that age, I suppose a person must do his best to see the silver lining in a situation. And if that includes using a cane as a weapon, so be it.

The last contestants on this little game show were a man and daughter (although I suppose they could have been husband and wife if she married someone two decades her senior.) The man appeared to be pushing ninety years old and was in a wheelchair. He was tall with a head full of thick, white hair that was immaculately combed. He wore pants with fitted cuffs at the bottom that left his hairless ankles exposed. Below that were stylish sneakers I’d expect to see on a millennial hipster or NBA star. Looking him up and down, I nodded my head. I’m not sure if I have the pizazz to pull off such a style. But he did so effortlessly.

“Did you see the Chiefs game last night?” asked the woman next to him.

He articulated something that sounded like a mix between clearing his throat and a mumble.

“I didn’t watch it either,” she continued. “But I was on a group chat thread with some people from work. They said the game went back and forth like a ping-pong match, but the Chiefs finally won. Can you believe that?”

Again, he mumbled as though he were only listening half-heartedly. Part of me wondered if he knew what a “group chat thread” was. Heck, just twenty years ago, if someone used that jargon, I would have assumed it was a knitting club or something.

The other part of me wondered if the fashionable old man knew who the Kansas City Chiefs were. I mean, he was old enough that he could have coached the team back in their 1962 inaugural season. But somehow, he didn’t strike me as the sports type despite his neon sneakers.

A nurse finally arrived and wheeled him through the double doors. I missed him instantly… like I’d just found my favorite character in a TV show only to see him killed off midway through season one. It wasn’t fair. Then again, neither is life itself.

My mom finally arrived with some sad news. She worked at this same facility for nearly thirty years before retiring. While seeing some familiar people in the hallways, she learned that her old co-worker’s cancer had come back. It’s a rare kind that weasels its way into a person’s lymph nodes and sets up camp. There’s no cure for it, but the prognosis looks good for getting him back into remission. Only problem is that the treatment is a real bitch. I nodded along somberly as I listened to my mom’s updates. As we walked through the hallway and out of the building, an old quote came to mind. “If you’re going through hell… keep going.” I’m sure he has some tread left on his tires once on the other side of the treatments.

To balance out the sour news, my mom offered something sweet. Another of her fellow workers from years ago finally got pregnant after years and years of trying. Tears of joy welled up in my mom’s eyes as she told me the news. Apparently, they had done IVF and were down to their very last egg when the miracle finally happened. They’d already made their peace that, perhaps, it wasn’t meant to be. But the Universe had other plans. Now, she and her spouse will get to experience the wonder of bringing new life into the world.

Last night, I had a dream that someone became pregnant and asked me to predict the gender of the baby. In the dream, I don’t recall who I was speaking to or who the mother was. But my answer was that it would be a boy. I can’t help but wonder if there’s a connection to today’s good news. Only time will tell.

What an emotional rollercoaster those forty-five minutes were. The cancer update reminded me that life can be scary and uncertain. The pregnancy news is proof that good things happen to good people… eventually. I wonder if the military man’s pinky will soon be as good as new. And what will become of the minister’s wife and her prescription status? Will the lady with the cough need a prescription soon herself? And how many people will the man with the cane need to whack on the head from now until Christmas? We may never know. But these are the things I think about at night when my head hits the pillow. These are the people who rent space in my heart and mind - strangers who come and go so quickly they feel like background extras in a movie. And yet, what are strangers if not friends we’ve yet to shake hands with?