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The waiting room was nearly full when I arrived ten minutes early for my appointment with the cardiologist.   Few seats were empty as I realized that the waiting area was serving five physicians, so the wait may not be so bad, I thought.   My heart attack three weeks ago was what brought me here.   I waited behind an elderly gentleman at the registration window.  Like everyone else, I had my bag of medicine bottles and  my notes of questions I didn't want to forget to ask.  But I did not have the magic "current insurance card."    I had told the hospital and Dr. Mian in the hospital that I had no insurance, but this was my first visit to the office, so I needed to explained again.   The receptionist was polite and kind.  She understood and smiled  when I said, "Heart attacks don't ask if you have insurance before they happen." 

I sat down with my clipboard of the standard forms for a new patient.  HIPPA, patient history, and the general information that you feel like everyone should know, you've recalled it so many times!  But I was happy to be alive and began the process of completing the forms.  "That was realitively painless," I thought as I returned the clipboard to the glass window lady.  I had brought a magazine and began leafing through the pages.  I passed another forty five minutes reading snippits  and short articles in Woman's Day.  All the while, names were being called and the faces around me changed as new patients arrived and those before me left. 

There were faces of all kinds.  I saw stories carved into older faces.  I saw pain on some, relief on others.  I sensed impatience in some folks and others, like me, sat quietly just waiting.  I figure there was a reason for the office running what was now nearly two hours behind...like there was three weeks ago when I was the emergency.   Someone was waiting on that Monday while the doctor saved my life and I was not about to be impatient with that.   There were two teenage girls with their grandmother , both busy texting on their cell phones.   A young boy sat, so well behaved, with what I would guess was his Grandpa.  He could not have been more than 8, but he, too, had brought something to read.  There were not many in the office younger than me.  Most were graying or white headed already.  I felt very young with my natural brown hair that still does not need clairol to keep it that way. (And the minimal gray I have looks like carefully placed highlights!)    I noticed that some had a hard time getting up or getting to the door when their name was called.  I saw that some needed a wheelchair or walker to assist them.  And here I sat.  Looking, I might add, very healthy!   Yet, I was here for the very same reason.  My heart had failed me.  Heart attacks do not discriminate by age!

I wondered about their stories.  I'm sure each was different.  As different as the color of their skin, whether they were man or woman; as different as their cultural and economic backgrounds.  But they all had a story like me.  They were survivors.  Or maybe they were lucky enough to have insurance and they were there to prevent what had just happened to me three weeks earlier.  My mind wandered to thinking of Bev and my family.  My support system, that when for the first time in my life I had to test it, it did not fail.  It did not waiver.  I sat hoping that each of them had a wonderful family and friends waiting to hear what the doctor had to say today.  Some of them, I thought, may not.  My heart went out to those.  I said a small prayer.

My name was called.  The nurse, Tina, was very efficient.  In no time, I was hooked up to the EKG and lines began scribbling on the paper belching from the machine.  "Dr. Mian will be with you right away."  And he was.  He apologized for running behind.  I assured him I understood and that was not a problem with me.  He explained what he saw.  There were still some irregularities in the heart beat, but nothing to be alarmed about so soon after the procedure.  He was pleased I had already begun cardiac rehab and was patient as I went through my list of questions.  Yes, I could drive more than short distances as he told me on discharge from the hospital.   No, don't be lifting anything over 15 pounds yet.   Yes, you can travel, but not if I had to go through security at an airport.  Not until the stent had been there at least six months.  That was fine, wasn't planning on flying anywhere.   "But I can travel by car?  No restrictions?"   He smiled and assured me no restrictions, just to not tire myself too much.  YEEHAW!  I thought.   I can go to Bev's!!   The appointment ended a few minutes later as he told me he would see me in one month.  Then I would have to have a stress test to see about returning to work.  I assured him I would be working hard at rehab.  "I have to get back to work as soon as I am able, Doctor. If I don't work, I have no paycheck.  I am at the mercy of family and friends."  He smiled, "I will see you in one month and we will talk about it then."

I exited the exam room feeling pretty good about the whole thing.  Now, the check out desk where the sign informs that payment is expected at the time of services rendered.  I told the lack of insurance story again.  We discussed briefly private pay options.  I understood that, however, I have no income.  "Can you make a small monthly payment, say $10?"   I said I thought that I could do that.  I wrote my check (thank goodness my sister had made a deposit for me) and walked out into the brilliant sunshine.  It had been cloudy, over cast and rainy for the past two weeks. 

I didn't remember that it could be so bright and warm and the sky was bluer than I remembered.  And those fluffy clouds, what are they called again?  The wildflowers on the hillside behind the office were beautiful.   It was the most exhilirating feeling I can recall.  I walked to my car, speed-dialing Bev with the results of my visit.