I was alone in the exam room, sitting on a paper-covered medical bed in an ill-fitting hospital gown, awaiting a procedure. It was one of those precautionary tests doctors recommend once you reach a certain age and they start using phrases like, “Just to be safe…” The door was open, and through the hallway I could see people passing by. It struck me that every face represented a story I didn’t know.
A nurse walked in with a blood pressure cuff and offered the kind of smile you give when you’ve already had a long morning by 8:10 a.m. Another patient stood across the hall, scrolling on his phone with the nervous rhythm of someone who wasn’t absorbing a single word. A tech hurried past, studying a clipboard so intensely he didn’t seem to notice anyone in his path.
I didn’t know what made the purposeful nurse seem so exhausted — whether it was the grind of a long shift or something else. I didn’t know if the man in the hallway was waiting on results that could change his life’s plans or was simply bored with the tedium of screens. I didn’t know if the tech was rushing with urgent news or just trying to reach the break room before the coffee ran out.
