The waiting room

No one likes to wait. And yet, in medicine, waiting has become almost synonymous with the patient experience. The waiting room — whether in a clinic, an emergency department, or outside the ICU (intensive care unit) — is often the first place where hope and anxiety sit side by side.

As doctors, we know how heavy those minutes feel. We have seen the sighs that escape when the clock ticks past an appointment time. We notice the restlessness of patients who shuffle in their seats, the parents who try to distract their children, the elderly who shift uncomfortably while holding their lab results close to their chests. We hear the quiet frustrations whispered between family members, sometimes louder than intended. And we understand. Truly, we are sorry you have to wait.

What many do not see is what happens behind the consultation room door. Medicine rarely runs on schedule because illness does not follow a timetable. Emergencies arrive without warning. A patient may need more time than expected — an unexpected diagnosis, a question that cannot be answered quickly, or a story that demands listening rather than rushing. Sometimes a child spikes a sudden fever, or an elderly parent walks in frightened and alone, and both require attention beyond the clock.

It does not make the wait easier, but it explains why it happens. And still, we carry the responsibility of communicating better. A simple update — “The doctor is still with another patient, please bear with us” — can soften the sting of uncertainty. A sincere apology when someone has waited far longer than they should is not just courtesy, it is compassion in action.

The waiting room, however, is not only about delays. It is also a place where humanity quietly unfolds. Strangers share seats, stories and sometimes, even snacks. A young man offers his chair to an elderly woman. A mother juggling two restless toddlers receives help from another parent who knows the struggle. Families clasp hands, whispering prayers while bracing for news that could change their lives.

These small acts often go unnoticed, but they remind us that even in frustration, kindness persists. The waiting room can become a space of solidarity, where people realize they are not alone in their vulnerability.

For us doctors, waiting teaches humility. It reminds us that behind every name on the chart is a person whose minutes are as valuable as ours. It forces us to balance urgency with empathy, efficiency with thoroughness. It urges us to remember that while we manage dozens of cases in a day, for the patient in front of us, that one appointment may be the most important moment of their week — or even their life.

Life itself is full of waiting rooms. We wait for results, healing, milestones, relief. We wait for the right time, words, opportunities. Some waits are short, others painfully long. Some end in joy, others in sorrow. But all waiting shapes us. It forces patience, strengthens faith and sometimes opens our eyes to what truly matters.

To our patients: thank you for your patience, your understanding and your trust. We are sorry for the waits you endure and we do not take them lightly. Your time is precious, and so is your presence. The waiting room is not easy, but it is often where the journey to healing begins.

So the next time you find yourself in one — whether in a clinic or in the larger waiting room of life — may you find comfort in knowing that you are not waiting alone. Somewhere nearby, someone else is also hoping, praying and holding on. And within those pauses, life is teaching us lessons we might otherwise never learn.