Waiting room F

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1 hour B.C.

Her face is red when she runs into the hallway, her brightly colored coat open and waving behind her like a cape. “What the hell is going on here?!” She screams when she approaches me, car keys in her right hand. It probably wasn’t really responsible to drive in this state. “Mom, take a breath, take a seat. Do you want water? They also have coffee, but it’s not the best I’ve ever had.” I close the book with Japanese puzzles and put it in my bag as I look at her while she hangs her coat on the coat rack. Thinking she needs to be strong for me, she secretly tries to pull herself together. The other benches are almost empty. The only woman who is still waiting in the room is staring straight ahead again politely.

What a contrast with a few hours ago, when the room was filled with fear and people about to change into patients. Fingers cramped around white plastic cups of water. All eyes focused on the screens where appointment numbers appear like we’re playing a bingo game. Soft whispers and uncomfortable laughter to break the tension.

Pling.

Number 30. Everyone looks at the small square piece of paper in their hand, while they know very well that this is not their cue. It reminds me of picking a turn at the local butcher back in the days, but I doubt I get a slice of sandwich sausage afterward here. Number 30 is an elegant lady with perfectly manicured fingernails and a white fitted dress. She rushes to the opening door and disappears into the room. Her husband stays behind, sits down on the edge of his chair with a deep sigh.

I hear my name. “Ms. Nouwens”? A nurse with a bunch of black curls is coming for me. “We are ready for the biopsy”.

 

At this point I already knew something was wrong. Very wrong. The story continues…
I don’t think anyone can forget that first appointment. How did you experience it? 

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Calm before the storm

14 days B.C. I can see it clearly. Four tables with fresh flowers on top. Bookshelves covering the wall from Read more

Just to be sure

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