Earlier today I waited for my husband while he had rotator cuff surgery. The waiting room was in the lower level of a major hospital and, as waiting rooms go, it was pleasant. There was free coffee, and it was better than most free coffee one finds in a waiting room. The chairs were comfortable and strategically placed to offer a moderate amount of privacy while accommodating several members of a patient’s family and friends. The Wifi was dependable, free and adequate for live streaming. It had two, functional televisions - one showed a game show (I had no idea that game shows were still on TV) and the other offered CNN. Both were attentively operated by a passionate, waiting room volunteer. Ah, the waiting room volunteer.
My husband was one of the first cases. We arrived at the hospital by 5:30 a.m. and he was in surgery a little over an hour later. I hadn't had breakfast so I ventured through the myriad of halls and down a few escalators to the cafeteria. When I returned, I asked someone if they knew where I should wait and I easily found the waiting room. I gave a glancing smile to the volunteer at the front desk and found a spot to settle in. Shortly after I fired up the computer and accessed the Wifi, I heard a voice calling, “Colleen?” I answered, “I’m Colleen.” The volunteer summoned me to the front desk for an orientation.
I approached the desk, smiled and waited. Immediately I was reprimanded that I should have checked in with him, as he had important information to relay to me. I listened attentively. He went over how the texting worked, who would come find me when the surgery was completed, where John would go after surgery etc. Most of the information had already been disseminated to me when we checked in at admitting, but I listened anyway; I had nothing else to do and I appreciated his dedication as a volunteer. After a few minutes of politely listening, I was becoming concerned about my unattended laptop and purse, as a few more people came in to begin their waiting process. Unbelievably, he stopped them and told them to wait, that he had important information to impart to them and that he would now begin all over again so he wouldn't have to say it twice. Say, what?
All I wanted to do was go to my spot, connect to Netflix and make time pass; he had already taken up five minutes of my time and this was getting tedious. It was also definitely awkward, not to mention redundant. The new people entering the room, were not as attentive as me and slowly, they just ignored him, found their spots and the lecture ended. Volunteer did not look happy, but he stopped talking and moved on to other duties.
Soon, I needed to use a restroom, which was “offsite,” meaning not within the confines of the waiting room. As I made my way past the desk, he raised his eyebrows, much like a teacher does when a student deliberately walks towards the exit door. I explained the purpose of my journey and he gave me a tight smile, as if to say, “If you must.”
He seemed relieved when I returned. A young woman approached him and asked if he knew where the cafeteria was. He answered robustly, with a smile, “Yes, I do!” She waited a bit and when he said nothing more, she looked perplexed and returned to her seat. Perhaps she realized that he was an eccentric fellow and that it might be better to leave him alone. He got up, emptied a waste basket then returned to her and said, “Do you want me to tell you where the cafeteria is?” She answered, “Yes?” as if she thought this might be a trick question. He then explained that technically, she never asked him to tell her where it was, just that she asked if he knew where it was. And again, he said robustly, “And I do know where it is!” After which he smiled as if he had just told the most hysterical joke. She smiled weakly and waited. He gave her instructions and I can only imagine how happy she was to leave. I almost offered to show her the way myself, just to find an excuse to leave.
At some point, a physician came and began a discussion with Volunteer which I tuned out. It is funny how when you suddenly hear something odd (and you didn’t even know you were listening), your attention becomes intensely focused. I heard Volunteer raise his voice and say to the doctor, “I will tell you only if you allow me to talk!” I thought surely he was joking. I took a peek around the corner and the doctor seemed irritated but unwilling to begin a battle with Volunteer. I’m not sure what they had been talking about, but the doctor left in haste.
Things quieted down and I settled into a rhythm of watching Netflix, checking Facebook, listening to the drone of CNN, and I had an interesting conversation with someone regarding wolves. In the next cubicle over, I heard a wolf cry (I later learned it was from a computer) and asked a woman in my cubicle, “Is that a wolf?” The man on the computer shouted over the wall, “Yes!” and that seemed to be his cue to come and chat. Turns out, he is really passionate about wolves and wanted to talk to me about them. He was nice, and since I like wolves as well (as much as the next person), we chatted about the differences between coyotes and wolves. It turns out that wolves eat the flesh of their prey and coyotes rip it apart. That conversation was thankfully short, as I continued to wait.
After a few hours, I was called by Volunteer to meet with John’s doctor in a special waiting room. I admit, it did give me a start and I wondered if this is how they dole out bad news….. The doctor came in and just talked about the surgery and some of the difficulties they encountered and how he worked around them. It turns out that the special waiting room has a whiteboard which he needed to explain what he did to John’s shoulder.
I returned to the waiting room and was soon asked by Volunteer to follow him. He led me back to the final room of a long hall, which obviously was John’s (because his name was on the whiteboard) but Volunteer stopped me before we walked in. He did a peek around the corner and asked me to gaze in and verify that this was my husband. Um, his name was on the wall … but OK, I went with it. John gave me a weak smile and I began to go in, and was again stopped by Volunteer. Volunteer asked, “Is this your husband?” I answered (my patience was waning), “Ha ha, yes, this is him,” and I was allowed to pass. He made some reference to plastic surgery but I was really over humoring him, as I entered the room with no more thought to Volunteer.
Fortunately, that was the last I saw of Volunteer. In John’s recovery room we were surrounded by competent, knowledgeable and compassionate nursing staff. They had a refreshingly efficient way of communicating which was both welcome and appreciated. We watched a video, and discussed signs of infection. I learned what the half life was of narcotics (my question), and how to remove the sling and ice pack (which we totally screwed up when we got home). We went through the various medications to take, when to take them, and what side effects he could expect from the surgery and the new medications. Time flew by and soon he was being wheeled to the car, and home to begin another period of waiting called recovery….
