I arrive in the waiting room nearly a half hour early and confirm my existence with two insurance cards and a questionnaire that asks me yet again to list my illnesses, allergies, and medications. Most seats are occupied by old people, older than me. Or maybe the same age. It’s difficult to say who is with whom because those who are not making love to their cell phones are paging through OK!, People and Star. Nobody’s eyes are on anyone.
I sit. I wish everyone in the room knew that I am a doctor and, therefore, special. I wish they could understand that I am unaccustomed to waiting. It is almost a mistake, a mere misunderstanding, that I find myself on this side of the door that leads to the inner sanctum. I wish a colleague would come out and ask my opinion. I’m surprised that none of my fellow sitters looks at me. I don’t even have a cell phone to excuse me from paying attention.
Next to me, an empty chair. In the vinyl is a faint impression of the former occupant’s back and butt. Had the person been called in to see the doctor just before I arrived? I touch the vinyl and imagine it still warm. Maybe the warmth accumulated because the patient sat there for such a long time. Maybe he was seething with anxiety over what the doctor would say, or how his life might soon completely change. He had so much anxiety that it seeped into the vinyl cushions and is now slowly being released—and affecting me. Foolish for me to feel anxiety. If these other patients only knew how much I know about medicine!
Several magazines lie on the table between me and my absent companion. The top one is open, its pages face down. The cover promises to reveal intimate secrets about men and women whose names I don’t recognize. I wonder if my friend was genuinely interested in learning these secrets, or was just paging through to distract his thoughts. He must have been called as he was looking at this particular article. Startled, he put the magazine down and rushed off without closing it. I can imagine his sinking feeling as he walked toward the inner door. His hands might have been cold and clammy, like mine, despite this overheated room. I pick up the magazine to discover the last thing my fellow patient read—a double-page spread, SEVEN EASY STEPS TO A HAPPY LIFE.
Jack Coulehan
Coram, New York
6 thoughts on “Vinyl Cushion”
I think it would be wonderful if every physician had the experience of making a new patient, and an urgent appointment, with their office, and then coming to the office for their appointments. This is an especially relevant idea as so many health care systems are reverting to call centers to set appointments, and the call centers are not empowered to schedule any urgent appointments at all. This means patients must make or receive several calls for an appointment for any urgent concern. I would love to see physicians subjected to this significant inconvenience when they are not feeling well, so they would insist on changing it.
I believe the control over making appointments is no longer in doctors’ hands. They now have their offices “managed” by huge companies, whose job is to streamline office practices to maximize profit, and that doesn’t necessarily generate more income for physicians. These companies now have “lives” of their own, and the doctors are the cogs in the wheels. As a result, the whole process is impersonalized. I believe doctors are actually penalized for spending too much time with their patients. Doctors in individualized practices, without management companies, are few and far between and find it hard to compete. What a sad state of affairs.
Waiting in doctors’ offices, waiting for tests and procedures — it’s an art. I’ve learned how to wait over the years, first with my parents as they aged, then with my husband as he’s gone through a variety of medical issues and then when it’s been my turn (surprise!). Among the keys: not letting your mind go through all the “what if’s” looking ahead. Being in the present, steadying your breathing, counting the categories of things in the office or waiting rooms. Thinking about the grandkids. Not worrying about deadlines and how your own time is valuable, too. Imagining better days ahead. And then doing it all over again while waiting in exam rooms.
And of course mentally reviewing the Seven Steps to a Happy Life. Love Vinyl Cushion, and love your response. I’ve gone through your first two categories (parents’, spouse’s illnesses), now waiting for the other shoe to drop for my turn.
Great satire.
Great title!