Musings in the Waiting Room

Sitting in the waiting room for our patient. Oncology and radiation. The room is full of patients and their family members. Waiting for their daily dose of poison, hoping it does the trick. Some of the family members look more tired than the patients do. Illness takes it’s toll from whomever it can. The coffee maker in the corner randomly makes vibrating noises, like a Geiger-counter. I catch the irony, wonder if anyone else does.

My partner and I make small talk with some of the people. They’re friendly, speaking in hushed tones. The waiting room is a temple of sorts. Clusters of people that have gone through the stages of grief together, separately. I assume most are in the acceptance stage. The talk dies down and I stick my nose back in my book, all others turn their eyes to the vibrant, young, vapid brunette prattling on about some story of fabricated importance.

There’s a small twinge of guilt, sitting here. Guilt at being healthy, at walking out without a high dose of radiation throbbing in my cells. No super powers for me, tonight. No weakness or nausea, either. Guilt is the most useless emotion. I have nothing to feel guilty for. My time’s coming, too. Might have already struck the hour and I just don’t know it, yet. I’m one of you, you’re just ahead of the curve, but I’m gaining. We’re all gaining.

I wonder when I wind up here, waiting for my cosmic blast, if there will be another crew in the waiting room. A crew I know. Have worked with. Joked with. Drank with. I wonder if they’ll feel guilty. I wonder if I’ll feel envious when they walk out.

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