A Cartography of Waiting

Over the last three weeks, since an unanticipated hospital stay (what hospital stay is anticipated?), I have been stuck in this mode of waiting—waiting for my body to be cleared of food so I could get a colonoscopy, an endoscopy, and a capsule endoscopy; waiting for insurance approval for this or that test, or the results of this or that test to come back, waiting for some elusive finish line after which I will no longer be waiting.

This is a new situation for me, but it is a common situation for many of my clients. They are waiting for a hip to knit itself back together, waiting to “graduate” from physical therapy or finish the final round of chemotherapy or get cleared to return to Assisted Living from Skilled Nursing/Rehab. But--in their 70s, 80s and 90s, as geriatrician Dr. Parsons has repeatedly told me, there will always be something.

I have thought a lot recently about my father-in-law, who lived on and off with us for the two years before he died. He was such a “good waiter,” At least, he rarely showed outward signs that he was impatient for this or that to be done. Instead, in between rounds of radiation or chemo, he would use his walker to accompany my youngest daughter Sarah to the Krispy Kreme or me to his favorite lunch spot, Side Street.

I am not that way. It’s hard for me to hide the external signs of internal thunderstorms. But one way I am becoming more like him is I’m suddenly acutely aware that there is no guaranteed expiration date. For any of us.

And while waiting can feel excruciating, it can also help you notice things that have long gone unnoticed. I remember attending an art exhibit several years ago of a local painter with cancer who had completed a series of oil portraits of the birds that landed near the window where she often sat convalescing.

I was recently listening to the crickets while convalescing myself and became curious about why the calls seemed to start with one voice (or leg rub) and then built to a crescendo so loud I could hear it inside the house with the doors closed and a fan on.

I read online it’s a phenomenon called “entrainment,” where one individual initiates and others join in. Other examples of entrainment in nature, the article went on to detail, are when lightning bugs synchronize their flashes, or when people on busy urban streets (unconsciously) synchronize their steps.

It’s funny the things one might notice when forced to rest and wait.

I am lucky because the test results I feared did not come back in the ways I feared. (“Gratitude” would be too weak of a word to use.) So I’m back on the move, while also very, very intent on, this time, keeping one ear open to the summer crickets and whatever else may catch my eye.