Looking on the bright side, the hours spent in one waiting room after another (after another) gives me time to write. As I scribble into my little notebook, I realize that this particular waiting room is at least painted in bright colors and has colorful floral prints hanging on the walls. The atmosphere attempts to be cheerful even if the general mood is not. Everything will be fine, we tell ourselves, but there is always at least a part of us feeling the doubt and fear that maybe...it won't be so fine.
This is the third medical appointment in as many days, and I still have one tomorrow and a lab yet to be scheduled.
No one talks really. The only sounds are magazine pages turning and the occasional throat clearing or nervous sigh. I'm moved from one waiting room to another, soon to be moved to the procedure room. Knowing that the "procedure" won't necessarily hurt, doesn't really alleviate the anxiety. Having had the procedure before doesn't calm me either. All I can do...is do what they say and try to relax. I know there are lots of people much worse off than me: people who have to go through much worse experiences. I try to think about that and pray that I don't end up being one of those people eventually. Maybe that's why I feel the way I do. I'm only a few tests away from the really scary stuff. Well, I guess I shouldn't get ahead here. One uncomfortable issue at a time, I always say. So here I go. It's my turn.