Waiting Rooms

            Waiting rooms are getting interesting.

 On Friday afternoon, Mom and I got to sit in two different waiting rooms at the vitreoretinal specialist’s office as we moved through the phases of her appointment:  1. vision screening, drops to dilate her pupils and numb her eyes, and pressure screening; 2. pictures of her eyes; and 3. more numbing and antiseptic drops in the left eye, followed by the injection.  (We go through this process every two months; the shot stabilizes the macular degeneration of her “good” left eye.)  When the technician announced the drops for her pupils, Mom’s witty remark made me laugh:  “I used to be a teacher, but I don’t have any pupils here.”

            But back to the second waiting room, which had two or three other persons in it.  Mom was in a talkative mood.  And, though I tried to steer the conversation in another direction, she got a little stuck on a particular professor she had for a graduate class at Northwestern:  she loved watching him lecture because he was so good-looking.  Now, why should I feel embarrassed by my 84-year-old mother talking about a handsome professor?  I think she only mentioned him three times in about as many minutes.  I don’t remember if that was before or after she sang part of a song from her freshman year at Oberlin.

            However, it was a different patient who stole the show.  Back in the main waiting room after having his eyes dilated, he peered around and said, “Now I need to find the right wife.”