Frustration

The waiting room was crammed at 4pm when I arrived for my dentist appointment. I sure hoped that didn't mean they were running that far behind. I had visions of sitting there for hours waiting for them to catch up.

After ten minutes or so, the door opened, and tall man in a wheelchair came rolling out. He looked to be in his sixties or so, with a full thick head of white hair. He looked strong and athletic as he motored over to the receptionist window and handed her his chart.

Unfortunately, when he went to speak, no one could understand him. He must have had a stroke or something and his speech was so garbled and slurred you could make little sense of it. Yet it was obvious that he was a man of intelligence. His brain was not the problem.

The girls behind the desk tried to understand, really they tried. It took me almost as long as it took them to figure out what he wanted as he repeated his query over and over and over. They kept responding according to what they thought he was saying, first directing him to the outer lobby to wait for his taxi, assuring him that the appropriate agency had already been called, then thinking he needed his coat (never mind, he has that), then informing him that his next appointment had already been made, then telling him that the financial statement would be mailed - I think they went through their mental checklist of everything people come to their desk to ask for.

He just kept repeating the same pattern phrase again and again and again. It was as if you could hear him say, "I am not stupid. I have a valid need. Please figure it out." I was amazed that he didn't get angry or upset, and equally amazed that he didn't give up. I don't know about his frustration levels, but mine were rising and I wasn't even part of the scenario.

Finally, after calling several other girls from the back, someone remembered that he had come in with an envelope of xrays. He was asking for them back. As soon as they knew that's what he wanted, they fell all over themselves getting it. After he left, you could feel the relief - and the irritation - in the room. They were glad they had finally figured it out, but frustrated that he was such a nuisance about it. All they really wanted was for him to go away so they could move on with their mindless work of dealing with the normal issues. And I think there was just a touch of respect that it had turned out that he had a valid reason for the continued pestering.

So that's a bit how I feel about this "now you have it, now you don't" thing. I am trying to tell the doctors how I feel and what's wrong, but it comes out all garbled and they are guessing all the normal things, but its not a normal thing. If I can just somehow get them to think outside the usual things they encounter, maybe we can get this figured out!