My psych often has people wait for their appointments. I’ll be scheduled for 800, there at 740, get seen at 840.
And you know what? That’s perfectly fine. I feel taken seriously, he listens, he asks, he quips, he shares his own experiences, he does all he can to make me comfortable telling him about the shit going on in my head. I’ll work up the courage to tell him something I find hard to phrase and unpleasant to talk about and he takes it with a relaxed professionalism, waiting patiently for me to finish, asks questions (usually very precise ones, both unpleasant in how close to home they hit and reassuring in the implications that I’m not the only one with these issues) and looks for the best way to help me.
So when I sit in that waiting room, watching the minutes tick by, I imagine he’s taking the same time with a different, far more difficult patient. Perhaps someone got slotted in for an emergency, perhaps someone needs blood drawn for a routine check and really, really hates needles, perhaps someone is having a breakdown… I don’t know and I don’t care what ails the other patients, but I know that I want them to receive the same quality of care as I do. To me, that’s worth waiting for.
“Nurse, can you bring me the big needles?”
This comic is based on a true story. I’m certain, as father of a two year old.
This did not happen.
Nothingeverhappens
Why not? Toddlers do things like point out clocks all the time. The “passive agressive” part is the parent’s interpretation. The actual action that is described is so very normal.
That toddler’s name: Albert Einstein
