The Waiting Room: An Underappreciated Experience

Mary Sansone is a two-time survivor of acute myeloid leukemia. Catch up on all of Mary's blogs here!

Sometimes when I volunteer as a peer visitor at chemotherapy and infusion centers, the patients and families in the waiting rooms do not want to engage. They thank me for asking them if they need anything but are quick to return to their phones or private conversations.

I don’t feel useless. God forbid I come across like an obnoxious salesperson. I respect their desire for solace. 

The waiting room is a special place: the appointment was on the calendar. The trip was made. Check-in was conducted. A seat was taken. The name was called. Progress was made. We may be going uphill, but we’re on our way.

The room is a quiet sanctuary, but not silent. A community of strangers reveal their struggles with cancer without even having to say a word. It’s a place where one might hear about brains, organs, blood and limbs, or the menu for dinner. Concerns are expressed, laughter is heard, prayers are muffled, books are read and texts are sent. Distractions and planning happen simultaneously.

No one is just waiting. The room is where impatience nudges hope. Where boredom diffuses worry. Where duty converges with self-love. Where progress is made.

A couple was sitting in another waiting room. Let’s call them Amy and Dan. I asked them how they were doing and if I could get them anything. I learned that they just flew in from Maryland that morning to visit the wife’s sister, Ann. Ann was getting an MRI. She has stage 4 lung cancer that had spread to her brain. She also has a bacterial infection in her lungs and pneumonia. I learned that their older sister passed on from lung cancer. Amy was tested but she had a different father and wondered if that was the reason for her clean bill of health. In the meantime, Amy and Ann’s 93-year-old mother was in the hospital back in Maryland. She recently experienced chest pains, so the hospital scheduled a cardiac catheterization. Amy and Dan couldn’t be in two places at once. A niece was with the mother while Amy and Dan took care of Ann.

The following day would be New Year’s Eve. Despite the worry and stress, the couple made a 5 p.m. dinner reservation; it was important to take care of their own mental health. They were going to take a detour from the climb for sustenance.

We laughed about our 5 p.m. suppertime preference and at my Midwest hard “Os”. We talked about good restaurants. We shared stories.

All in the waiting room.

Nurses call out names and warmly greet patients. They escort them to a private room with a curtain. The waiting room stirs. “Maybe my name is next.” Progress.

Climbing up a hill requires finding the best path, maneuvering around obstacles, clearing brush and exerting oneself forward. I know this is an obvious and overused metaphor, but we rarely hear about the other side. Once a name is called, the waiting room is left behind. Another round of chemo or a blood transfusion is dispensed. After check-out we head home to base camp. We are on our way.

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