Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Our Endless Numbered Days
Another dollar, another day spent in doctor lobbys and hotel rooms. Another course of meals taken at tables for one and another night spent away from friends and family and just about everything else that I love. But I signed up for this when I took this job so, until I am otherwise employed, this is my life.
Today, in the waiting room of my last appointment, there was a steady stream of people seemingly on their last legs. It was like sitting aside the runway of some medical equipment fashion show. Instead of 4 inch heels and bangle bracelets, these models sported all the lasted trends in aluminum walkers and oxygen tanks. There seemed to be so much pain with every step and I couldn't stop myself from trying to find the past in each of their crinkled faces. When I was standing in line for the bathroom, I noticed a small man waiting near the door of the ladies. How odd, I thought, until I noticed an equally small woman hobbling out of the stall. He placed his hand on her back and steadied her as she made her way back to the lobby. I wondered what their love looked like when it was new and I wondered how my love will look when it's old. Years from now, when that elusive he and I take slower and slower steps through life, will our faces have traces of the early years, will our hands still tingle at the touch of the other, will our eyes still glitter at the sight of our beloved? My heart heaves a happy sigh to think of the one who at the end of our lifetime, will place his hand on my back and love me then the way he did when I was beautiful and young. I have ridiculous amounts of love welling up within me and I find it tremendously difficult, almost torturous, to keep it all inside. Intense thoughts for the waiting room of a doctor's office, I know. But there was so much beauty and knowledge and wisdom in that room, hiding under a dense layer of failing bodies and aching bones, that I couldn't help but be touched.
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Today, in the waiting room of my last appointment, there was a steady stream of people seemingly on their last legs. It was like sitting aside the runway of some medical equipment fashion show. Instead of 4 inch heels and bangle bracelets, these models sported all the lasted trends in aluminum walkers and oxygen tanks. There seemed to be so much pain with every step and I couldn't stop myself from trying to find the past in each of their crinkled faces. When I was standing in line for the bathroom, I noticed a small man waiting near the door of the ladies. How odd, I thought, until I noticed an equally small woman hobbling out of the stall. He placed his hand on her back and steadied her as she made her way back to the lobby. I wondered what their love looked like when it was new and I wondered how my love will look when it's old. Years from now, when that elusive he and I take slower and slower steps through life, will our faces have traces of the early years, will our hands still tingle at the touch of the other, will our eyes still glitter at the sight of our beloved? My heart heaves a happy sigh to think of the one who at the end of our lifetime, will place his hand on my back and love me then the way he did when I was beautiful and young. I have ridiculous amounts of love welling up within me and I find it tremendously difficult, almost torturous, to keep it all inside. Intense thoughts for the waiting room of a doctor's office, I know. But there was so much beauty and knowledge and wisdom in that room, hiding under a dense layer of failing bodies and aching bones, that I couldn't help but be touched.
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