I’m still learning how to wait, metaphorically and literally. I was sitting in the waiting room for my annual physical when I noticed on one of the monitors a message I hadn’t seen before. It said, we know that other environmental factors impact your health. So tell your doctor if you are having any concerns with housing, food insecurity, or you feel unsafe. We can connect you with resources to help you.

That caught my attention. I appreciated the holistic, empathetic approach, acknowledging that health is about more than blood pressure and lab results. And yet, I still felt that familiar nervousness I’ve carried since childhood. I’ve never loved going to the doctor. Growing up somewhat sickly meant I logged plenty of hours in waiting rooms. Back then, I entertained myself with Highlights magazines or whatever games they had lying around. Now, I just…pay attention. It’s one of the few times I’m actually noticing what’s going on around me.

Like for instance, this morning I was probably the youngest person in my waiting room. Most of the room was filled with seniors, many greeted by name. It reminded me of my grandmother, who has her own weekly rotation of doctor visits. I couldn’t help but wonder, are the other middle-aged men just too busy to show up for their health?

Of course, the irony of waiting rooms is that once you’re finally called, you get ushered into another room to…wait some more. Fortunately I have a good relationship with my doctor. I started him about twenty years ago when I got married (thanks to my wife’s recommendation). Who knows if I would have found one on my own at that age. Over the years we’ve developed a rapport, and I appreciate the that he seems to remember things about me. One of the benefits of having a longstanding relationship with my doctor is that I feel like I have someone I can trust. He asks about stress, mood, and sleep, not just cholesterol and diet. That trust has mattered.

It trips me out how each time we go through a long litany of questions about my lifestyle, habits, diet, and body all to diagnose if anything is wrong. That’s useful I suppose, but I prefer the conversations we have about what’s stressing me out these days or how my mood and sleeping habits might be changing. When I turned 40 we started talking about my family’s history with prostate cancer and the ways we wanted to be pro-active in screening for it. This kind of stuff only comes with relationship over time.

A few years ago, when I came down with the flu right before a work trip, I nearly ignored it. But I dragged myself to the doctor. Sure enough, I tested positive for the flu. He gave me a good talking to about not getting the flu shot. Guess who’s rolled up his sleeve every year since, including today, and hasn’t had the flu once? This guy.

So after countless vials of blood and a flu shot, I walked down the long corridor to check out, set next year’s appointment, and hope for another clean bill of health. Waiting is still not my favorite, but maybe I’m learning that in the right hands—and with the right perspective—waiting can be an act of care.

SDW3