The Waiting Game

I was on time for my 3:00 appointment, despite the fact that I-395 was closed because of the Holocaust Memorial shooting. At 3:05 I entered the lovely room where I would wait and wait and wait some more for the doctor who would hopefully pronounce me melanoma-free.

It’s a teaching hospital, so I’m always first seen by a resident. I figure 4 eyes are better than 2. He must have come in a little after 3:45. But then he left me lying there on an uncomfortable examining table with my little open-in-the-back gown waiting for the senior doctor.

A couple of times nurses popped their heads in to either say the doctor was coming or in one case ask my name. I worried aloud to one of them that I wouldn’t have enough money to pay for parking, so she took pity and found a “free parking” coupon for me, which oddly enough reminded me of a “get out of jail free” card.



At some point, everyone seemed to lose interest in me. I could hear people leaving for the day. I panicked that they were just leaving me in that room and going home for the night.

I usually look forward to my conversation with this doctor, but by the time he came in at 4:45 I was too angry to be much more than civil. I wanted him to say that he had just had emergency surgery to remove a giant melanoma from some other patient, but instead he offered no excuses for keeping me waiting for almost 2 hours. He looked me over and pronounced me cancer-free (always a comforting adjective to hear). The resident froze a seborrheic keratosis on my leg that looked like a wart. And then I was free to go.



As I walked out after 5:00, I heard a nurse announce, “That’s the last one.” I’m going for the first appointment of the day on my next 6-month visit.