So here I am writing on my iPhone while waiting for my Mom who is seeing her diabetic specialist at Fraser River Endocronology. I'm trying out the SquareSpace Blog publishing application for the first time as I look up from I phone from time to time to observe my surroundings. The waiting room is central with offices surrounding it. The waiting area is also warm, lit by sunlight coming in through a large skylight.
A mother holds her small child by his two hands, and she lets him lead her on a small walk around the waiting room. Another older man, dressed in black, sits silently staring off into space. Another older woman sits looking at her mobile device (not an iPhone), while an older oriental man reads a woman's magazine that he found in a pile of waiting room magazines. The mother and child is called and they disappear into the office.
I feel a whoosh of fresh air as a motorized wheelchair whizzes by, it's engine whiring smoothly as an older woman approaches the diabetic specialists' receptionist. The receptionist knows the lady and I hear them talk briefly about using the chair in inclement weather, "I'd never take this down that hill in the winter," I hear her say before she whizzes away from the desk to the middle of the waiting room where she stops. She's wearing a green mask - one of those medical masks that Asians seem fond of wearing whenever there's a flu scare. One of those masks hospital ERs or walkin clinics make you wear if you have a cough or cold. She takes out a paperback novel, it's black, titled "Prayer for the Dead." Her hand covers the authors name. She too is dressed in black and has bruising on her arm, no doubt from the diabetic insulin needles she likely uses. My mom has similar bruises on her arms and stomach.
"Leo?" The man in black rises and disappears into the office. A younger woman follows him in and approaches the receptionist for her two o'clock and permission to borrow the washroom key. Minutes later she returns the key and sits, bathed in sunlight as she rubs disinfectant on her hands. She then goes into her purse, opens a small jar of lip balm and with a single finger applies some to her lips. Having finished that her iPhone comes out, and she's browsing it now as my Mom comes out and books her next appointment with the receptionist. It's time to go.
