The Waiting Room by Realist101 |
Cheerful laughter rings throughout the halls of the modern clinic, as I sit, trying to be patient while I wait for yet another poking and prodding. This time it's an ultra-sound, and memories of being pregnant come surging back as I try to become invisible in the waiting room. I remember thinking then, all those years ago, that nothing could be as painful as giving birth. I know now, just how terribly wrong I had been. The stent in my ureter is killing me. I can barely walk, let alone live my life. And I wait.
The clinician is kind. So young, vibrant and full of life. She has gorgeous hair too, and I wish that I were her. Or someone like her. Healthy, a good job. I mentally kick myself for wanting things I cannot have. She pushes on my guts and the pain shrieks in glee, laughing at me as I cringe and try not to squirm. She apologizes, and I tell her it's okay. It's not okay. I shouldn't be here. I should be at home. I'd rather do dishes, fight the dust bunnies. I'd rather do windows! I'd rather clean up cat puke. But I'm here, it's not a dream. It's reality. And I don't like it anymore. So I gaze longingly at a huge painting held in a gilded frame. Just a print, the picture is Italian in nature, where soft sun filters through the leaves of the small trees around it and there are comfortable chairs sitting around a small table. People have been there. The lemonade pitcher is half full; a scarf is draped on one of the chairs and I think of a favorite movie of mine. My mind takes me there ... to Italy. Where art is appreciated, where the people are happy and kind. I shut my eyes and try to block the pain. I want to be someone else, be somewhere else ... . The dress I wear swishes delicately in the breeze; I am young and healthy again, if even for a moment, and I walk onto the golden villa ... where my new life awaits me, beneath the warm Tuscan sun.
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