How my agenting skills saved me from boredom in a hospital waiting room

Tips on survival!

I recently had an MRI appointment at a hospital as I’ve had a few medical issues (I will be fine). These are never ‘fun’ but necessary, yet this visit was beyond the usual boring experience.

I arrived at radiology, was given the usual instruction to put on a hospital gown (the fashion equivalent of a potato sack with a draft), and told to lock all my worldly possessions including my phone, my Kindle, and even the hair tie I might have used as a slingshot if things got dire into a little locker. Then I was to wait in a cubicle.

“Someone will be back to get you in ten minutes,” they said. Famous last words.

Because, it turns out, there was also an infant scheduled for an MRI that day. And infants are notoriously difficult clients. They won’t sit still, they won’t read the instructions, and they absolutely refuse to lie quietly in a noisy machine unless you happen to catch them mid-nap. So when this particular baby finally nodded off, guess who got bumped down the list? In a small stall with a paper curtain and a slated wooden bench. With nothing to do.

I spent the next 45 minutes sitting alone in a tiny cubicle that contained exactly two things:

1. Me, in sad drafty gown.

2. A collection of medical posters on the wall.

Without a watch, a phone, or any form of entertainment, I began to descend into a kind of Victorian-era ennui. I counted the ceiling tiles. I decided to lean into my editorial/agenting skills and mentally edited the posters from UK to US English (“anaesthesia” became “anesthesia,” “oesophagus” lost its gratuitous vowels). At one point, I considered giving the posters Yelp reviews:

• “How Your Kidneys Work” — informative, but lacking narrative tension. 2 stars.

• “Your Spine: A User’s Guide” — riveting plot twist at L4-L5. 4 stars.

• “Guide for Tying Your Gown” — too many ties, need better diagrams. 1 star.

Next, I started drafting letters in my mind to the hospital board complaining about my unhappiness and the unprofessional way I was left alone with my own thoughts for an unreasonable amount of time. This was followed by trying to write haikus about the experience but I had nothing to write them down with or on so they were all quickly forgotten (probably for the best!). By what I assumed was the 40-minute mark, (in reality it could have been ten minutes or six hours as I had no way of knowing but if I was to judge by how long it took me to edit all the posters and create two awful haikus, it was 40 minutes) I had nearly reached enlightenment or madness. Honestly, the two felt interchangeable.

Eventually, the technician returned, smiling as if he hadn’t just left me in a medical escape room with no clues. “We’re ready for you now,” he said brightly. I glanced at the wall clock in the hallway during my walk to the MRI and realized 45 minutes had passed. My timing was spot on!

And in I went, finally to the main event: the giant clanging MRI tube, which at that point felt like a Vegas casino compared to the waiting cubicle. And I was once again, in that gown, alone with no entertainment, in a smaller space, with nothing to even look at. I spent the time mentally drafting this post…

So, the next time you think you’ve had a boring wait at the doctor’s office, remember: I spent 45 minutes in the equivalent of a medical jail cell, counting ceiling tiles in a drafty gown, all because a baby needed a nap. And you know what? Fair enough. But I learned a life lesson: Entertainment is all around you, if only you choose to look and use your imagination…and also if you are left with little choice.