Hometown Madison - January & February 2016

Camille Anding
The Time Coin
Almost every chair had been taken
in the sprawling waiting room
when I arrived for my 10:00
appointment. I checked my watch. Yes, I
was early, and so were about twenty other
patients ahead of me.
This was just a check-up, and since I
didn’t have a virus or fever, I was content
to wait my turn. The other patients had
settled into their waiting modes with
magazines and whispered conversations.
Traffic continued one way as patients kept signing the register.
One elderly gentleman, accompanied by an adult son, eased through
the entrance and to chairs near me. The son signed the father in and
was handed the customary clipboard and pen.
He sat next to his father and began asking questions from the
clipboard. “What’s your social security number?” No response.
“What’s your social security number?” Again, no response. Then in
an amplified voice, the son learned toward his dad and shouted,
“What’s your social security number?”
The father reached in his coat pocket, pulled out some forms and
in the same amplified voice answered, “It’s right here.”
I tried not to look, but it was impossible to miss out on any of
their questions and answers. The father was 82 years young, still
enjoying life, but was to see a doctor about hernia surgery. The
receptionist and everyone in the waiting
room can verify my story.
However, as the two men continued
filling in the spaces, the waiting room was
transformed into a classroom. I saw an
exemplary demonstration of respect for a
parent, and I was given a review in “health
appreciation.”
When the questionnaire was completed,
the hernia sufferer continued to talk to his
son in a voice any politician would envy. He was to the point, and he
was loud! As he surveyed the large waiting room, filled mainly with
senior citizens, he turned to his son and said, “What’s going to
happen to all of these old folks?”
He was probably thinking about his own health struggles and
the maze of paperwork and records associated with health care and
hospitalization. All the controversy over health reform hadn’t helped
his frustrations either. His mind must have reverted to younger and
more hopeful years because he blurted, “Thank God for Roosevelt.”
As most of the waiting room audience turned to the senior citizen
and smiled, I pondered the needs of the large collections of seniors,
the years they had invested in their families and communities and
wondered who they were banking on for security and hope.
Roosevelt is helplessly etched in history. From my own years of
experience, I was grateful to say, “Thank God for Jesus.”
58 • Jan/Feb 2016