The Waiting Room
(sitting in a chair)
It’s cold, it’s always like this in here. But today it feels so cold. Did they turn the AC on? It’s the middle of winter in Denver, what is wrong with them? There are toys all over the floor, in the children’s section. There is a mother wiping the snot from the kid’s runny noses, with annoyed look on their face. Oh, I long to be her. To be able to hold a chil-
Brrrrinngggg! The front desk's phone rings and the nurse greets the person on the other line with most monotone voice I’ve ever heard. She’s probably done this for the thousandth time today. Considering the fact that I’ve called at least twenty times yesterday, to make sure the results would be ready by today. After the twenty first call, I picked out the outfit I would wear; a cream silk blouse, black dress pants, and my Nonna’s hair clip she wore when giving birth to my mother. I got up at half past 5 in the morning, even though my appointment wouldn’t be for another 12 hours. I couldn’t stomach the idea of food on such an important day, so I watched the snowfall and pet Oscar for a good three hours straight. Brian called, but it was only to tell me that he’d be working late and I was too focused on the soft white snow to worry about his usual tendency to avoid anything related to the B word.
All I could think about was this appointment. I’ve seemed to memorize the routine; the forty-five minute wait in Dr. Herman’s office with freezing temperatures, screaming children and toys scattered all over the floor, and the front desk’s phone ringing non-stop. Then Amanda would come and tell me he’s ready for ya hun. I would walk the inevitable 32 feet from the waiting room to Dr. Herman’s office. He would sit there and read my report, this would most likely determine my physical well being until the next visit. This continuous cycle, has become such a part of my routine, that I find myself coming to the doctor’s office because I was so lonely at home. I would make excuses for myself, Amanda was working a double shift maybe I should bring her some Chinese. My whole life began to revolve around this 24 story building filled with anxious eyes and squirming hands.
It’s weird to think that a single embryo could have this much control over a 35 year old women. At this point in my life, I should have my own house, a dog and a loving family. Although me and Oscar live in a three story house, I wouldn't call me and Brian’s relationship, loving, anymore. After the first time, it felt like a piece of us died. And in some ways it did. Doesn’t a child take a portion of its parents? It never had the chance to show us. We would never know if it would have Brian’s eyes or my smile or Brian’s smile and my eyes. The mystery tore me apart. Day, by day, I would imagine how old he would be. I would imagine him running up to me from the school bus and hugging my knees. It’s unbearable to think how I’ve built this world with him and he’s not here to live in it. So instead of grieving, I’ve grown apart from the people who were closest to me, including Brian. Even though I know it was just as hard for him. You don’t have to carry a baby to be just as in love with it. I wish I would’ve known that before I destroyed what we’ve had. Without people to constantly tell you what a horrible person you’ve become, you feel free in some sense, but it’s lonely and cold.
But not as cold as Dr. Herman’s waiting room. It’s freezing and I’m pretty sure they have the AC on. I can’t get my fingers to stop trembling and the non-stop ringing of the front desk’s phone only adds to my uneasiness. Amanda walks in with the lo mein to-go box I brought for her, and in between mouthfuls of shrimp I make out the words, he’s ready for ya hun.