Waiting rooms, if noisy, drown out panic. When quiet, when your crazy mind has space for meandering to the worst places, waiting rooms are a terror.
I could never have been a doctor or a nurse. How they drown out the sobs as patients wait for doctors, put blinders up and ignore the heaving bodies, shuddering with pain, is a mystery. They must be a different breed altogether. Like werewolves. Or something.
A lady just wheeled past an old man in a chair. His left leg is curled up at the ends, rigid. His face is frozen in a contorted expression; what it must look like when the wires of your God-given brain fizzle,
and fail.
It’s not so bad now, if you don’t think about what the doctor will have to say later. It’s ok as long as I keep playing some stupid game on my phone.
