We sit on the bench in the hospital corridor
next to the cafeteria, and we wait.
You know what waiting is.
If you know anything, you know what waiting is.
It’s not about you.
This is about
illness and hospitals and life and death…
(From: “What Waiting Is,” by Robert Carroll, 1998)
We are all forced to wait many times in our lives, and this week, I’ll be in the role of the loved one, the spouse, who will likely be experiencing the toe-tapping, check-my-wrist watches moments where I am rendered powerless to do anything but wait. As my husband’s surgery date has drawn closer, the undercurrent of worry and restless nights has increased. By day, I am calm and supportive, by night, the concern and anxiety rise to the surface as I lie in the dark. Anyone who is living, as the patient undergoing surgery or the family member restlessly sitting in the surgical waiting room, knows the tension and anxiety of waiting intimately. This kind of waiting, whether patient or family member, is torment, as writer Susan Gubar describes:
Hurrying up to wait is, of course, the fate of most patients, whether or not they have cancer and no matter how impatient they may be. But for cancer patients, waiting entails being enveloped in heightened fears about harmful protocols and the difficulty of eradicating or containing the disease. While I’m waiting, who knows what appalling cells are conspiring within my body to destroy my being? (From: Well, “Living With Cancer: Hurry Up and Wait,” The New York Times, December 3, 2015).
But for the family members confined to the surgical waiting room, the experience of waiting during the surgery and for the news of the surgical outcome, the hands of the clock on the wall move slowly, despite how many times we check it or our watches. It’s a different kind of agony.
“Here, stress, anxiety, uncertainty and fear serve to make even the shortest of waits seem unbearable. Families sit crouched forward in their uncomfortable chairs watching the door in hopes of preservation of a life or, unfortunately, sometimes by a less desirable outcome.” –Kevin Campbell, MD, “The Psychology of the Surgical Waiting Room: Personal Adventures in Waiting,” 2012)
It’s been decades since I waited for more than an hour in a hospital waiting room for anything more than a loved one’s minor surgical procedure. Thursday’s surgery will be much longer; a two-hour pre-op process, the actual surgery estimated to be three and one half hours. Time will, I know, seem elongated, as if it stands still. “Every watch is broken in the waiting room, ” Nurse Sonja Schwartzbach writes in a recent Huffington Post article, “better to count your blessings than to measure the seconds.” Kevin Campbell, MD, notes there are four common themes to the psychology of waiting:
- Unoccupied time feels longer than occupied time. I’m armed with novels and my computer to help the time pass. Weather permitting, I may take a walk.
- Anxiety makes waits seem longer. Like it or not, we feel anxiety when a loved one is under the knife. Endurance may be the only solution–that and deep breathing.
- Uncertain waits seem longer than finite waits. I have an estimate of the total time before my husband is out of surgery from the moment he is admitted for the pre-op procedure. That helps, but I doubt it will have only minimum impact on the monotony, anxiety and fatigue of waiting.
- Solo waits seem longer than group waits. I expect this may well be true for many people. I’m not one of them, preferring to keep my worry quiet. The well-intentioned concern expressed as questions about next steps, treatment options, referrals to another specialist tend to exacerbate the anxiety I feel.
“For family members…the moment my patient is wheeled into the operating room is when loved-one-limbo begins,” Schwartzbach states. “Everyone feels like an uninvited guest in an unfamiliar residence…the element of the unknown prevails…” She describes the difference in the way strangers interact in a hospital waiting room: some share laughs and jokes; some sit still and lifeless, waiting for a surgical update. Others, and I am in this category, sit, observing the dynamic, waiting for what has been unraveled in one’s life to be stitched back together. “Doctors use sutures and glue. Writers use moments and moods. One heals the body…the other heals the soul.”
Waiting has never been easy for me. I am action-oriented, even impatient at times, yet I know that while time may seem unending on Thursday, I will have no choice but to accept what I cannot control, to let things unfold as they will. It’s life– it requires I learn to wait.
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
(From The Four Quartets, by T.S. Eliot, 1943)
Writing Suggestions
- Write about an experience of having tests, biopsies, or surgeries as part of your treatment for cancer. Describe the waiting, what you felt and why. You might try writing a poem that also captures the experience of waiting for results when the outcome could be either positive or negative.
- If you are the partner or family member of a person who has undergone serious surgery, write about the waiting, the waiting room, the emotions that accompanied your wait in either narrative or poetic form.
- If you have any advice to those who are going through treatments, tests and surgeries and waiting for the outcomes, what would it be. Try writing an open letter to these individuals.
Whew, how nice to hear from you, Sharon. Thank you. I am writing to say what a relief to hear that was a laproscopy surgery! Amazing and I’m happy for both of you. Recovery so much easier. I’m thrilled that you are enjoying the seasonal changes in Toronto and that you are near family. I will try email address again soon. Kathy
Dear Sharon, I am going to attempt one more time to contact you and your husband! I’ve tried [email protected] and also tried signing up for your wonderful blogs again — but to no avail. I see above that your husband’s surgery went well and that he is home with you! How grand! I am sending you both a heart full of love and healing thoughts. Write more later if I can figure out how to contact you. Happy Halloween. The golden maple and ginkgo leaves are covering the ground around here. And I picked up a princess pumpkin, 2 blue pumpkins, and a turban squash from a cute place called Organic Matters Ranch, out there in Eureka. Oh, and they gave me some huge, drying sunflower faces — and all this is on the front porch to remind me of my favorite season 🙂 I planted cover crops out there too in peat pots and the humming birds and bees love them. So that’s what’s going on with me and I am of course very concerned about you two! And I hope to hear back from you, Dear Sharon. I am so sorry to hear of this happening to two such dear souls. Love, Kathy Elliott
Oh Kathy, you are so dear to reach out. I’m sorry you’ve not gotten through on my email. I have no explanation for that–as far as I know, it works (at least most of the time). But thank you for your lovely note and your kind thoughts–it was unexpected, sudden, and yet, the doctors moved quickly. John is recovering well–laproscopy surgery! We will get the pathology report next week, and from there, know the treatment plan. But for now, no evidence of spread to other organs, so we keep positive and focus on living. I’ve quoted Gilda Radner often (“It’s always something…”)–I’m grateful we are here, in Toronto, a city we love, and near one daughter and her family. We’ve had such wonderful support from our friends here and many notes from friends too. Yours touched me when I read it this morning. Thank you… Our autumn (my favorite season too) is passing…leaves beginning to fall from the trees as winter hovers in the wings–but it has been so glorious to be back among trees lining the neighborhood streets and walking trails–very invigorating and healing.
Take good care, Kathy.
With fondest wishes,
Sharon
Dear Sharon,
This week your writing prompted memories of the heights of my husband’s anxiety during my cancer treatment and the surprise of it, of course, but then it made so much sense that he had almost no control over the process or the outcome and his belief, although strong, was not quite as strong as my own, that my body would be able to withstand the stress and strains of treatment.
May all continue to go well for you both in recovery.
Katy
Katy, thank you… I so appreciate your note. John’s surgery went well; he’s come home to recover, no evidence of spread, and waiting for the pathology report to determine treatment regiment. I am exhausted but greatly relieved. Take care, dear Katy.
Sharon
Ah! The waiting is not over yet. I hope for the best possible outcome. And love and faith and hope for you both.
Another week, and we’ll know, Katy–thank you for your thoughts.
xo
S.
I shared this before but it seems to fit. Two years ago I was cured of prostate cancer. Recently broke it out for my family as my wife is almost diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer. onandonandonandon it goes
THE PATIENT PATIENT
Are you a patient
Be patient
You will need patience
Plenty of patience
This is why I suppose
We are called patients
Patience is as patient does
Patience
Cancer patients
Cancer fighters
Cancers survivors
Are telling me true
Waiting can be
the hardest part
Waiting for me
is becoming
fine art
Patiently waiting for an appointment
Patiently waiting for blood tests
Patiently waiting for results
Patiently waiting for confirmation
Patiently waiting for next appointment
Patiently waiting for approval
Waiting for scans
Waiting for results
Waiting for follow up appointment
Waiting for treatments
Waiting waiting waiting
Waiting some more
Waiting some more
Waiting is as waiting does
Never mind the
WAITING ROOM
Now I made up my mind
I determined in my heart
Not to play the cancer card
I don’t intend to
Let big C control my life
Tho
I have to admit
It is hard to make plans
While waiting
You can’t depend on me
While I am waiting
It is hard to relax
While waiting
It is hard to think
While waiting waiting
Always the waiting
“But those who wait on the LORD
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:31NKJV)
With all my waiting
I will wait on the LORD
published on dadbenschoter.blogspot.com
Thank you so much for sharing your poem and your experience on my site. “Always the waiting…”
Sharon Bray
Dear Sharon I am very sorry about your husband’s illness. And About yours too, of course. I look back to those days in your living room in Menlo Park when we came together to write. KD Lang singing Hallelujah played as we came in. We left with bags of persimmons from that voluptuous tree in your side yard. I met Nancy Montague there and we roomed Together in Spain on that wonderful writing retreat
All those times seemed like they would go on forever. But they do because I can remember those years and see how the physical pain and mental anguish affected me then. And I can stand a little bit off to the side and see how I was then and now
I remember hearing the bells tinkling on the sheep at night in Spain. And it’s persimmon time again in MenloPark. But they’ll never taste as good as they did when we picked them from your tree.
You are in my thoughts and I’m grateful for your Postings. All the best Carolyn Kennedy
>
Carolyn,
Your note triggered a flood of fond memories…thank you so much for writing to me.
Sharon