The doctor made his way to our room about 20 minutes later. We realized we would be late for our second appointment; so my husband stepped out of the room to call the office and let them know we would be there as soon as possible. The doctor came in, said hello, examined me and then went to the computer to document his findings. I could tell he was not up for small talk, so I did not say anything so he could concentrate on what he was doing. Once he finished documenting, he turned to me and asked me how I was and did I have any questions for him. I told him I was doing well. I did have a few questions, and we reviewed them. He answered all my questions, told me he would see me in three months and that I was stable and doing well. I thanked him, and we went to the checkout desk.
As I sat there, I wondered why people who came after me were going in ahead of me. There seemed to be no rhyme or rhythm to the process. I wondered when I would be called as no one provided an update, the reason for the delay or an estimated time of when I would be taken. I thought how ironic it was that the TV kept playing an infomercial that talked about how the clinic is committed to providing a high level of customer service, but as I sat in the waiting room, I wondered what they meant by high levels of customer service since no one took the time to explain why I was waiting. In my mind, a simple explanation would go a long way in decreasing my anxiety and help me understand the delay.