Without going into the details, Ransom and I arrived at 11am, as directed. We signed in and were sent to one of the most uncomfortable waiting rooms I’ve ever seen: no comfortable chairs, no privacy, on a main corridor, no doors to quiet the outside tumult. After waiting 45 minutes I went seeking info at the desk a hundred yards away. “Oh, Ransom’s procedure is scheduled for 12:15; they should be calling you soon,” said the chirpy receptionist.
Wait. 12:15? Why the hell were we told to be here at 11?
As I write this it is now 3:00pm – 4 hours later. We're still waiting.
What I've learned today is that the procedure rooms, on the other side of that door that rarely opens, are all full. It seems that when cardiac emergency patients are brought to the ER, here is where they come next. So while the docs work, heroically no doubt, to save someone’s life, we sit here and wait.
Bored.
Angry.
Hungry.
Neither of us has eaten anything since dinner, 19 hours ago.
Now, I get that saving someone’s life takes priority over a diagnostic procedure. What I don't get is why in the hell those two things are melded into the same space. It’s as if we were told to come to the Emergency Room and they'd get to us after the gunshot, car crash and cardiac victims had all been taken care of.
In fact, that’s just what happened, except that we were not told in advance.
Communication is something they're not very good at here. In four hours one person has come out to talk to this roomful of angry, frustrated hungry patients. She was helpful and apologetic and her manner went some distance towards calming the anger in the room.
But only some.
My friend Don said today that he hates to wait. I hear you, bro. Today’s experience takes waiting to a new level entirely.
Note: it's just shy of 5pm as I post this. Ransom was taken back for his procedure at 4:30. Five and-a-half hours after we arrived.
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