It is Friday, August 26th. I am in a bigger hospital with, yup, smaller stents. Dr V is doing the second ERCP. It is an outpatient procedure. Al is to wait in the post-op waiting area. They will call him when I am in recovery.
There are 8? 10? people also in the room. One by one they get called; only Al remains. He texts the family: Over 2 hours now. I’m only one left in waiting room.
There is something about this that just twists at me. It is hard to be The Waiter. The one in an ugly room, counting the minutes. The one bearing the worry.
Those of us lucky enough to have a Waiter – a friend, a wife, a Dear Hubby, a child - are lucky indeed. It is not about having a ride home after the procedure. There are Uber drivers. Or neighbors who will do it for gas money.
It is the knowledge that this one person will wait. And wait. As long as needed. As long as it takes. You are tethered. You have a safety rope, and it will lead you back to this familiar face. There is power and comfort in that.
‘Course I do find out later I have been throwing up post-op, alarming the nurse enough that she calls in the anesthesiologist. Whereas I am quite certain DH Al is - between text message updates - getting caught up on Words with Friends.
This leads me to believe that with this whole tether business, if given a choice between being The Waiter and The Patient, I would pick The Waiter.
But I am very glad to see DH’s face! Although I don’t have my glasses back. So, he looks a little fuzzy. But still comfortingly, solidly, reassuringly familiar.
Hugs to Al, as well-the best waiter!
Yes, Al is your "waiter" but thank goodness he is supported by your family and friends who, in a different way, all also waiters who love and care very deeply about you.