An Apology to My Fortune Cookie

And other reflections from a week of sitting in hospital chairs.

Here is the backstory in case you missed it: Patronized By A Fortune Cookie

Yes, I kind of had a meltdown over this fortune:

And I am here to confess that the fortune was correct—it was just terrible timing. It was only a bump in the road. I should know better than to doubt my fortune cookies—they have a very long history of being right. I just wasn’t in the mood.

It was an exhausting week that required us to go to the clinic three times. But on Friday, the liver numbers had recovered and they said, “You are free to leave.” That was so far from, “We may run tests, there is a slim chance of hospitalization or an infusion.” It was a whole week of uncertainty and then . . .

It was only a bump in the road.

I spent so much time sitting in waiting rooms and exam rooms this week—and the last six months—that when I try to conjure up an image of myself in my head, I am always sitting in an uncomfortable chair. I rate chairs on a five-point scale ranging from torture devices to comfy clouds. Waiting room chairs aren’t too bad. Maybe it is so people don’t get more irritable about waiting. I never imagined I would spend six months of my life sitting in random chairs.

When the days of sitting are done, we head to the patient pick-up area. The outside benches are horrible but the chairs inside are about a “4”. We choose those and while we wait, humanity moves in and out of the hospital in front of us. Some of the people would be thankful to experience the week I had—one that only included a bump in the road.

The people come and leave in cars, transport busses, ambulances, cabs, and Ubers. One arrived in a Medicab—that was new. Some rolled in and out of the hospital in wheelchairs and stretchers while many others navigated with walkers or canes. Some had boots or casts and a few rode the "knee scooters" (is there a word for that?) A few pulled oxygen tanks and several arrived with suitcases.

Every person had a story. I wondered about those stories. How difficult had their journey been? Were the ones leaving in ambulances losing hope that life could be better? Did they have the support they needed? Did the ones who arrived or left alone have a family to support them? What did they worry about most?

Scott and I have been sitting in this area waiting for rides at least once a week for two months now. I often waited by myself when he was hospitalized. Those were lonely days. It feels good to share the journey once again. As we watched, we decided that everyone—especially politicians—should be required to sit in that space for an hour or so every week. Maybe it would help us become a more compassionate nation again.

We have had a dramatic wake-up call about how life can very quickly go sideways. It is almost a year since we celebrated our 45th anniversary. Health-wise, as a family, we have been very fortunate. Scott and I had gallbladders removed and I fell and broke my elbow right before my 60th birthday. I almost had pneumonia once. I am on no medications and it seems that most of Scott’s medical issues were liver-related. We rarely went to doctors and then we had a “Go big or Go Home” episode with a liver transplant.

Life is just that unpredictable.

We were ill-prepared for this except that we are great survivors. When one’s life goes that far south so quickly and you suddenly find yourself sitting in chairs for six months trying to make sense of something you never considered possible, a bump in the road can feel like a big deal. Sometimes it is. I am sure some of the people we watched come and go were trying to cling to hope. I know I was on the days I sat there alone.

As we sat there, we recognized those who were still in the beginning days of their journey. They can't find the door (it is complicated due to construction) and leave without knowing that in the evening, the door will lock behind them. They try to decipher maps and talk on phones to people who are attempting to find them. It feels good to help them. There is always gratitude in this space. It all feels more like the reality of life than the illusion that life can be trouble-free. Life is filled with bumps in the road—some of them have the potential to kill us.

There are many opportunities to help one another. Our wounds aren’t always visible but they are there. Everyone is sitting in a waiting room of one kind or another. Remembering this enables us to watch for those who need our help. They are everywhere—waiting for someone to care.

We can't allow the current chaos in our world to normalize not caring any more than sitting in the waiting area where everyone is suffering should normalize that suffering. It is easy to become numb to suffering when it is all around us and it is imperative we not allow this to happen.