Hospital Waiting Room

Hospital waiting rooms encompass the highs of life, those delicious moments of life that you never forget and the lowest of the low moments, the moments when your life is changed forever and usually for the worst. Last week, as I sat in the ICU waiting room, I looked around and realized our family had experienced all of them, and right in the waiting room of Piedmont Hospital.

I've lost count of the number of times I've sat in that hospital waiting room over the past few years but I can tell you I hate it. I hate the magazines, hate the color of the chairs and deplore the smell. I imagine it to be the smell of fear, sadness and anxiety all rolled into one. I also hate how doctors relay good news right there in front of everyone but take families back into the small, colorless room when they need to relay bad news. Somehow it doesn't seem fair. The families in the waiting room form a bond, and should experience all the news; good news and bad news, together.

When Trouper first had his heart attack and was in a coma, I remember being in the waiting room and not being able to breath. I felt like I was suffocating and every time a nurse, PA or doctor came out, looked around for a family, I felt as if I was going to collapse, waiting to hear our name. When our name was called, I often didn't have the clarity to ask questions, usually just nodding or mumbling something incoherent. I got better, got more organized and started writing my questions down in between visits with the hospital staff and day by day, no hour by hour, the visits became better.

That's how the past two years have been for me, I've had to learn to cling to clarity, learn to organize my thoughts and above all, remember to breath. The waiting room at Piedmont has been my teacher, my guide and taught me all those things. Am I thrilled to be sitting there, sick at my stomach with worry? No. Am I thankful to be sitting there, waiting on good news in front of everyone or even bad news in the little room? Yes. Having the privilege of being in the waiting room means that we are still a family of four. That Ryan and Emily can still ask Dad for advice, I can still hold his hand and feel like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world and our family is together. So, even though I loathe being there, I cherish it as well. Guess the waiting room is the true definition of a double entendre.