The waiting room

I haven't been writing much lately, the stars don't seem to favour me quite like they usually do, but I'm still aware of the life-giving force that encircles me daily.
Recently I had an issue with one of my eyes, yes, the window to my soul; flashing lights and squiggly things across my vision. The first day it was like seeing fast-moving ants on the ground and in the sky. Not having medical aid meant that I had to go through the system. First to the day-clinic, then onto the Emergency Room at the hospital. It's in these places that you meet ordinary people with not much wealth, but they are the salt of the earth, the ones who keep everything running around us. They are Construction workers, shop assistants, and sometimes the homeless. At the clinic and in the ER, one realizes the terrible inequality and suffering that exists in the world. Occasionally a well-dressed woman will appear from the white suburbs looking like a deer in the headlights. (I am differentiating her race group because sadly in South Africa it is mostly Black and Coloured folk who are in the lower income groups.)

This day I saw her dressed in black and white with her false eyelashes fluttering up and down as she blinked away the tears. Clearly, she could not afford the expensive private hospital we all long to go to, with short queues, coffee machines, comfortable chairs you can fall asleep in, and gentle, white-coated angels wafting about. Most of us would have to sell our houses to afford such places. It all seemed quite daunting to her, I wondered if someone had explained to her that the wait might be long. I could read the anxiety on her face. I tried to reassure her that it would be alright and that she would eventually see a doctor even though she had arrived quite late in the day, all while saying in my head “I was here at 7 am as the doors opened”. Oh, if she could read my thoughts!
The funny thing is that when I registered one of the nurses told me that I’m very nice and I asked her why. She said a lot of white people wanted to fight with them, you know white privilege and all that?

Most people resign themselves to the long wait and bring lunch and buy chips from the vending machine, some kick up a stink because they don’t get how the system works or read the signs. Some even manage to muster up a hot meat pie by about 3 pm. You know how good that looked to me having only had a banana and half a biscuit all day.
I was thinking about thoughts in the waiting room circling us, manifesting themselves as doubt, and fear, contorting our faces and bodies.
I saw one man crying in a wheelchair, I could only wonder what had happened to cause him so much distress. He was slumped over not wanting to engage with anyone, it must have been really bad.
We were given a ticket to enter and a ticket to leave. The security guard took his job very seriously and monitored us all much like a prison guard would, but I think he secretly loved controlling the room. I saw him get his handcuffs out of his locker and attach them to his belt. I think he was hoping for a little action that day and he wanted to show us all that he meant business and wouldn’t tolerate a disturbance of any kind. There were signs everywhere, some warning the people that bad behavior would not be tolerated and they would be escorted out. Another sign explained the system in which patients were prioritized, obviously the more urgent life-threatening injuries were seen first.
At one point I was beginning to wonder if they had lost my file……
You see I had arrived at 7 am to a small crowd of four patients, there was a stillness and faint chatter, some were lying on chairs exhausted from their ordeal. It was quite a peaceful scenario.
As I said, it was early in the morning and I had only just wiped the sleepy dust from my eyes, so I settled in for the long wait, but ever hopeful I would be seen quickly. A child was playing in the hallway, giggling and doing a little dance, his laughter was contagious and I thought “let it be my medicine for today” ...
Later in the day, people started arriving in wheelchairs, some reading pamphlets to pass the time. Trollies were moving back and forth, disturbing the enforced peace as they rattled down the corridor. An orderly even arrived with a toolbox, and I wondered what that was about. It was around that time that a very serious-looking police officer strode in as though he meant business. Perhaps there had been a crime?

I quietly laughed to myself remembering how at reception they had asked what church I went to, presuming I went to church at all. The words tumbled from my lips, like an old memory from a comfortable place I had once worshiped at. I thought if I wanted anyone to pray over me while I was dying or terribly ill it would be an Anglican priest. I had encountered one when my mother was dying and he had left a lasting impression on me. I don’t think I could handle a priest trying to raise me from the dead though. You can see how thoughts lead somewhere every time.
The hard part of my ordeal was that they didn’t let Pete in, he had to sit in the waiting room outside, I could see him through the doors looking at his phone. What would we do without our mobile phones, I sent him messages to say that I was fine, though a little tear did roll down my cheek. I pretended it was my eye-smarting because of the squiggly things. Eventually, I sent him a message saying there was very little point in him staying because from reading the room I realized I was in it for the long haul, so he trundled off home saying he was only a twenty-minute drive away.
I hadn’t wanted to do this thing alone, but I would have not been as present had he been with me. I was also unable to keep accessing my phone for fear the battery may run out.
I began to move around a bit because my back was getting stiff in the hard hospital chairs.
Another security guard arrived and I could immediately see that he was more chilled than the earlier one. He laughed and joked with the nurses and greeted us all in a very friendly manner. I think he might have let Pete in. I realized that he was just the relief guard and I was glad Pete hadn’t come in because the stern one returned and looked around the room, itching for a bit of action, writing furiously in his little notebook.

Being alone for a long time gives one a chance to gather thoughts and scatter them at the same time. I was trying to recognize them for what they were. I have been doing “a course in miracles” and I was able to practice my lesson that day: “God doesn’t create sickness, neither does love” ... Thoughts have an ability to torment us and put us into quite a state, so the lesson helped to calm me down substantially. A song of Nick Cave’s came into my head for some reason and I gently sang it to myself “Into my arms Oh Lord, into my arms”. Not knowing what it meant, it comforted me greatly.
You know how they say the writing is on the wall, well I was ignoring those dark thoughts trying to write themselves on the wall, like a worst-case scenario.
A screaming baby broke the silence, he seemed really traumatized, it reminded me of when my son had a lumbar puncture at three years old and how he kept calling me and screaming. I remembered it as though it was a minute ago, I felt my stomach contort with anxiety.
A young lady in a shower cap and a wetsuit distracted me for a minute. I wondered if she was in the shower when she realized she wanted to spend the day in the ER. I know it was a wetsuit because I helped her undo the back zip in the bathroom. I chuckled to myself quietly.
In the background, I could hear people munching on potato crisps. I had been tempted to get some myself but the vending machine only had fizzy drinks and crisps of the variety I am not that fond of. The funny thing is that when I am stressed, I don’t eat much.
I joked with Pete that I was doing an intermittent fast.
Quite a few people started pouring in with injuries that looked pretty awful. My heart sank, but mostly for myself because I thought I wouldn’t be seen that day and would have to come back again the next day. How horrible of me to be thinking of myself when people were limping in with sore legs and bandaged heads.
A distressed doctor came out and explained to us all that there was a system that they had to see life-threatening patients first and that it could take up to six hours to resuscitate them and there were about 20 patients beyond the glass doors and only 2 doctors in attendance. She seemed understandably quite frustrated. I thought okay I’ll be here at 10 pm still and that’s okay.
The nurse offered anyone who was in pain a panado, “Doctors orders”’ she said. I wasn’t in pain as such, except for my derriere but that doesn’t respond to pain killers, it was just tired of sitting in a hard chair. The lady beside me had a bit of a meltdown and mumbled in Afrikaans under her breath and sighed very deeply.
I had almost given up when the most wonderful lady doctor called my name. The news was good, I didn’t have anything seriously wrong with my eye, but she wanted me to come back in a week as apparently there can be complications but they are not that common.
I waited a while longer then she gave me my release ticket, my get out of jail free card...
I gave it to the security guard and told him that I was free, he didn’t even crack a smile.
It was like being sprung from a semi-dark prison with agitated inmates understandably holding their breath the whole time.
I greeted the afternoon air with a little skip in my step...
The trees were talking, the birds were chirping, the sky was a pale comforting blue and the sun was warm and inviting.
I could see, even though there were still some squiggly things in my vision.
I was not afraid...