Waiting at the doctor’s office is awkward for obvious reasons.

The polite thing to do in these situations is to take out your phone and pretend to be entertained even though there’s really nothing entertaining on it. Or, pretend to have someone to text. Like me. Besides, opening social media is always a gamble. Is your volume on? How loud? What’s gonna pop up first? Last time it was Erika Jayne in a sexy santa suit, with her ass pointed at the camera. I wanted to laugh. Had I been a man, how telling it would’ve been about my algorithm. But as a woman, with another half naked woman popping up on my algorithm, it didn’t mean anything because it could mean anything.

No, it’s better to seem cultured, and open the times, the chronicle. Better to seem like you want to read about the current dumpster fire. The latest in the taking away of our rights. They take them away from the least of these and lie to ourselves about the possibility of it ever happening to us. It won’t, will it?

God, I would kill for a plate of dumplings right now. And some hot and sour soup.

Sitting in my gown without a bra, I’m so close to the other patient that I could reach out and touch his knee. Intrusive thoughts. But, I’m staring off at a pile of grippy socks. He glances in my direction. Does my vacant stare unnerve him? Is he trying to see my bralessness? Do I seem like some disaffected woman, pulled from the pages of history- crazy? Committed, like the movie, girl, interrupted? Or do I seem more like a hapless, mindless day laborer, on her way to be sterilized without consent or knowledge?

Why is the lighting so bleak at hospitals? Why don’t they have cafe lighting in some rooms? I know. You need to see everything. Eyes wide open. It adds to the despair and dreariness of the secret reasons why each of us is here. The older woman in the other dressing room wants a different size gown. I think. She said, “these are so big…” she didn’t follow up with, do they have anything smaller? anything in season? Anything on clearance or new? A nurse or tech arrives. I forget. The other guy waiting reminds him, turns out the gown IS huge. like, xxxl. Mine is L at best.

Don’t mind me, I’m thumbing away at my screen. The tech nurse is so much taller than her. She is old. One day, I will be her and she will be gone. (One day, that tech nurse will be Devi. I’m so excited for her.)

What dignities are we afforded as we age? At the hospital? I think old age and illness make me more fearful than death. Dismemberment, disfigurement, a fragmentation of the body or mind. A fragmentation from my dignity.

Why is there a mirror in the dressing room of a hospital? It feels like a mockery to have it in a place where people go when they feel terrible. when something is wrong. when things hurt. It feels like too much honesty. Too much vulnerability. Too much fluorescent lighting.

The new nurse helping the older (old) woman is nice. She speaks directly, is patient without being patronizing. She’s careful. Risk management, careful. OSHA careful. She offers the woman grippy socks and helps her find her cane. She offers me grippy socks, too. I delightfully accept. I can’t explain it, but the hideous socks make me happy.

They leave.

Can I put my knees up? My chonies will show, but no one is here. If no one is here when I put my knees up, do my chonies still show?

Someone walks down the hall, their phone on speaker. I recognize the wait music. They are on hold with the hospital while they are at the hospital.

they call my name. well, they actually spend more time apologizing for butchering it. I awkwardly laugh it off. They insist on getting it right. I reassure them- they’re good.

It’s the polite thing to do.

Next: Her.