A white, plastic-capped specimen container filled half-way with a clear liquid was next to a tiny, disposable spatula on a square of paper towel on top of the ceramic counter. I recognized the container and label stuck to the front; it was clearly a sample from the last patient’s appointment.
“It appears that they forgot to pick things up before bringing us back,” I exclaimed with distaste.
At least the paper liner was clean and unwrinkled, I thought as I plopped my heavy body down and crinkled the perfectly smooth, white sheet. I cringed at the waste; the paper would never be the same or used again, destined for the trash as soon as we left.
My husband sat next to the counter on a low chair and looked over towards the used test kit. His view was partially blocked by a white bottle with blue print; it was a lubricant with the cap hanging off by a plastic tab.
“That bottle of lube is staring at me in the face,” he said in a tone between horror and disgust. “And it’s still open.”
There was something threatening about that seemingly abandoned bottle of medical lubricant, like sitting next to a smoker in a non-smoking section. My man was desperate for an intervention, but unsure from where it might come, so he stared up at the ceiling, unsure of where else to look.
He glanced down at the clock on his phone once, twice and once again.
“Do you have someplace that you need to be?” I asked.
Sheepishly, he nodded, “I only took half an hour off for this appointment.”
I didn’t mean to, but I laughed out loud, the very definition of LOL. I would have gone so far as to ROTFLOL if I could have easily gotten down from the table. He was a perpetual optimist, always seeing the best in others, planning for success and positivity. The laughter bubbled up directly from the well of my soul, apparently located in my stomach next to the extra-large baby and kept bubbling up.
“What doctor’s appointment has ever taken thirty minutes?”
Every doc’s appointment I have ever attended followed the same script. Check in and wait, meet with the RN and wait, sit in a room and wait and wait and wait.
“I didn’t know how long it would take,” he explained, shrugging off my LOL’ing.
“Ok then, let’s hurry up and wait.”
We will wait together for the next four months to pass, wanting time to slow to a stop and speed up all at once, uncertain as to what the future holds and yet as prepared as possible for life, together, as we become three.