Wednesday, September 23, 2015


I spend a lot of time in hospital waiting rooms. Some patients keeping watching the clock and are eager to get on with it and get out. When I have an appointment, I am under pressure to arrive on time, but once there, I don't count how long it will take before I leave. I just want to get well.

My time spent waiting is always interesting because the variety of people at the Jewish General Hospital is a gift to me. People from all nations, languages, races, cultures, are among the crowds. And I engage people in conversation. They are my cornucopia of experiences. 

Yesterday, I sat beside a man who was very quiet. I dared to ask why he was so quiet. Was he depressed? He said not. But he was not familiar with procedures and wondered why he had to wait so long. 

So I got him talking and found out that he was a furniture maker and we talked and talked until he was called for his test. He waved to me with a smile on his way home.

Nearby a man waited with his elderly father. He came over and sat near me and we got to talking. He spoke with his father in Hindi - and in English with a lilt to me. 

The father was the spitting image of Mahatma Gandhi, I noted. Well, what do you know. The man's name was Gandhi and his cast of grocers made him a family member of the great Mahatma Gandhi.

I thought the older gentleman did not speak English until he smiled at me and thanked me for putting a blanket around his shoulders. I hugged him and kissed his forehead. A lovely experience. A moment to remember.

And then there was the tattooed man. Beautiful huge tattoos on both arms - and on his back, he told me. I asked him all about his reasons for wanting the tattoos and how it was done, and what it felt like and learned that it cost a few thousand dollars. And he told me how his blood markers had gone down from over a hundred to just five. A wonderful bit of news - another cancer survivor doing well.

 I am never bored.

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