i'd rather be in the morgue

most of the women in the waiting room at dr flynn's office had no breasts and no hair. some wore scarves, some baseball caps, and one carried her fuzzy head right out in the open. she had loud dangly earrings and couldn't have been more than 18. iwas here to get some blood work done, they were here for the fight of their lives.

it was hot and crowded and i felt ashamedly uneasy, upset. so much illness and would they recover? but doctors offices being what they are, i had plenty of time to study and observe, listen and learn.

many of them had a partner or a husband or sister or daughter or mom, and they took all of this in stride as if they were waiting to have their teeth cleaned instead of waiting in line for checkups and ct scans. the couple across from me were busy chatting about their winter plans, and when are the boys going on their ski weekend anyway? how about if we invite the pattersons in february? continuing to plan as if all is well and then off they went to their chemo class.

after they left another duo sat down. a tall and very hansome young man who was puzzled about the article he was reading in vanity fair until his mom pointed out that that issue was a year old. they both laughed and she handed him a magazine called "farmers" and he said "that's better." she was tall and amish looking with a silver topknot, long black skirt, black sweater and black sensible shoes. as he read, she pulled out her white notebook with the pink ribbon on the front and made notes about thoughts as they occurred to her. planning ahead, making lists, moving forward.

and then there was bebe. i'm sure that was not her name but that is what the silver sequins on her black ballcap spelled out, bebe. she wore a floral print blouse and black pants that were much too short - not in the name of fashion but probably because of a dryer that was too hot. fancy fuzzy white lacy socks, and black pumps. her face was grey and her lips thin and and crimson, and she was pissed.

"i hate it here! they are always behind. it's like a big cattle call. i can't stand this waiting. it's ridiculous the way they stack us up. i'd rather be in the morgue."

she unscrewed the cap of the the bottle holding a thick white liquid, poured cup after cup and winced with every gulp. "last time i spilled this stuff all over the inside of my purse. what a mess." and after a long pause she said

"i tell ya, i never thought this would happen to me."

so there i was feeling uncomfortable with the possibility of death and there they were living. doing what they needed to do and saying what they needed to say and being where they needed to be, and looking at them i thought

none of them is ending up in the morgue

any time soon.