The Waiting Room

There were sounds of laughter coming from the hallway. Someone holding a little girl’s hand, “How big you have grown.” Activity. Talk of a wedding. Meanwhile I could hear the sound of wheezing coming from the man who sat across from me in the patient’s lobby. Probably in his sixties, he wore plaid pants and a baseball cap squarely on his head. He seemed agitated, anxious, and I wanted to say something but there was no eye contact. Occasionally he looked to the jigsaw puzzle on the table next to him, touched a piece or two. He coughed, clearing his throat. I wondered if he had lung cancer like me, sitting in a room waiting to lie on a table for magical zaps that come out of a machine with the hope that we can stay alive a little longer. It’s not easy to let go. We cling to life with all the tenacity of a pit bull, while life really continues down the hallway, with laughter and little girls growing bigger.

... PLM