Doctors' waiting rooms

are not usually quiet places. This is especially the case with the clinic we attend. There are too many doctors there for the waiting room to be anything but full most of the time. There is a television set perched high above the chairs with the sound turned down but not off. The phones ring, people are getting called in to see their doctor or the nurse or the podiatrist or the psychologist.

But yesterday I had a routine appointment for 8:40am. With the utmost faith in my GP's ability to be late I knew I would not see her until at least 9.00am - a prediction which ran true. 

And this was despite the fact that the waiting room was quiet. There was hardly anyone around.  There were the usual staff at the reception desk but there cannot have been too many doctors on duty because there were five people in a waiting room which normally sits about forty. There was mother with a young baby in a pram. There was an elderly man waiting to see the nurse. A girl in her late teens or early twenties was fidgeting nervously with her phone. An older woman was standing there looking up at the television screen. She shook her head at it as I came across the room to sit outside my GP's door.

"What absolute rubbish. I'd rather watch Play School - and you know what that's like these days," she told me.

I smiled behind my face mask. I don't usually talk to strangers in the waiting room - unless I am offering to give someone the chair I am sitting on or they obviously need help.

But this person started to talk...and talk. She reminded me of someone but I could not think of who it might be. 

"And you rode here?" she asked nodding at the compulsory helmet.

I nodded.

"What's it like in the traffic?"

I told her I ride a tricycle and I mostly use the footpaths.

"Got far to come?"

I named the suburb. There was silence for a moment and then she said delightedly,

"You were Mum's friend, P....!"

Yes, P...  I wrote about her on this blog back in October. Now I could see why this woman reminded me of someone and who that someone was. D.... is a much gentler version of her mother and we reminisced before our mutual GP called her in,

"She argued with Mum," D... said to C... as she stood up.

"No C... I said, her mother argued with me."

We all laughed. 

D... was out a few minutes later. It was just a quick request but I heard C... say, "Send Cat in on your way out will you?"

I went in. C... was sitting there shaking - with laughter,

"Oh Cat... I didn't realise. If she had ever mentioned the word tricycle I would have known. P... talked about you a lot."

"I hate to think about that," I told her with a definite feeling of alarm.

"Oh no, she loved your company.  You were "that girl on the bike who makes time for me and has the nerve to answer back". I think you should regard that as a compliment."

Perhaps it is. I passed C... the order of service for another funeral she had not been able to attend but in which she was mentioned. We talked briefly about P... and the other C... whose funeral it had been. I handed over a tiny Christmas present I had made for her. She checked my blood pressure - fine. She wrote out the prescription I needed and arranged for the blood test I knew I needed.

As I left we wished each other the usual seasonal greetings but then she added, "And Cat...please keep listening to them. It helps."

I hope it does. There are times when I want to get on with what I am doing but stopping to listen to an older person for a few minutes might make life easier for my GP too. Perhaps it might even help her from running so chronically late.

The waiting room was empty apart from one person waiting to see the nurse. I prowled off. Quiet waiting rooms are good but I am glad I met D....