Marshall Button: My wait times transcript

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A group of vultures is perched high up on a cliff, unmoving, patient, biding their time. Finally, one of the young vultures blurts out, “To hell with patience, let’s go kill something!”

Unlike New Brunswickers who are frustrated by delays in our health-care system, the vulture evolved as a species because it mastered the fine art of waiting. It feeds on dead things. It has remarkable eyesight and an even more remarkable stomach. The vulture boasts the strongest gastric acid in the animal kingdom. With a pH level stronger than battery acid, its powerful gizzard gravy effectively eradicates bacteria that would kill or harm other creatures. It’s Rolaids on steroids with wings.

In our fast-paced “I want it now” world, the vulture reminds us that the art of waiting, although rapidly becoming obsolete, has its merits.

“Patience is a virtue.” That expression comes from a fifth century Latin allegorical poem that features a battle between vice and virtue. The expression has always been associated with religious doctrine. But in our modern secular world, we don’t seem to be convinced of the merits of waiting patiently for a happy afterlife in the sweet by-and-by where “we shall meet on that beautiful shore.” I’d settle for the North Shore during smelt season.

My dad told me a story about his school days when a teacher was introducing his class to Milton’s Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent. The teacher read the poem with its famous last line, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” He asked if anyone could speculate on the meaning of that phrase and a hand went up at the back of the class. “Johnny?” “Okay sir, that means when you’re at a party and everybody else is drunk, but you aren’t; if you stand there long enough, somebody’s gonna walk over and hand you a glass of rum.”

Dad was a champion when it came to waiting. Forty-four years as a papermaker will do that to you. It’s a job that’s guaranteed to test your patience. Hours of sitting around doing nothing, interspersed with periods of flurry and panic when the paper breaks and all hell breaks loose and papermakers have to work furiously to get the machine back on line.

Like many men of his generation, Dad introduced his kids to fishing and hunting, activities that require a packsack of patience. Standing in a frigid friggen river in hip waders and casting a line for hours without so much as a rise teaches Zen and the art of swatting mosquitoes.

It’s easy to blame technology for destroying the artistry of waiting. There once was a time when our quaint communications meant picking up a pen, writing a few words on a piece of paper, stuffing it into an envelope, adding a stamp, walking down the street to the mailbox and dropping it into the box. Then you waited a couple of weeks for a response.

Smartphones have taken rapid gratification to a whole new level. Instant messaging and made-to-measure entertainment are accessible everywhere at anytime at lightning speed. I also remember a time not so long ago when we communicated by email. And when your email wasn’t answered within 24 hours, you’d call the person and ask, “Hey, did you get my email?”

We ought to spend more time perfecting the declining art of patience. Farmers are good role models; they realize when they sow seeds in the spring, with luck and good management, positive results will ripen in a few months. People who frequent the gym know better than to expect immediate results. But impatient body image folks go to plastic surgeons for tummy tucks and butt lifts, and some take more drastic action and end up looking like Wayne Newton. Viva lost faces!

We don’t wait in lines as much as we used to. Twenty years ago, when a hit show came to the Capitol Theatre, people camped out on Main Street all night long in all kinds of weather so they could be the first in line when tickets went on sale in the morning. Nowadays we have online/virtual queues. Recorded music for in-person lineups has been replaced by progress bars and fun facts that pop up and test your patience as you wait staring at your screen.

And what’s worse than calling to change your phone plan? “Your call is important to us. Please stay on the line until your call is no longer important to us.”

There are still jobs that require people with great waiting skills. When I was a teenager, I went for a job interview for a security guard position. I waited 12 hours. When the powers-that-be walked out and saw that I was still there, they hired me on the spot.

Nowhere is waiting more prevalent than in our New Brunswick health-care system. Ah, the patience of patients! A growing number of Canadians wait for years for a family doctor. But once you have one and get a referral for specialized treatment, it’s not unusual to wait more than a year. Unless, of course, you’re waiting for a dermatologist or orthopaedic surgeon, in which case, “never” seems to be a common option.

It can seem hopeless when you’re waiting for health care. It’s not like waiting for a vacation or a birthday or some other happy occasion. While you wait you prepare anxiously for the possibility of less-than-satisfactory results. You finally get an your appointment, only to be told by a specialist, “I’m sorry, but this looks very serious.” You ask, “Can I get a second opinion?” And the doctor replies,“Sure. You’re also ugly.”

One consolation we derive from long medical wait times is that it could take at least a year before a doctor tells you that you have only 24 hours to live.

Every day you see one more card

You take it on faith, you take it to the heart

The waiting is the hardest part

Marshall Button is a native of Dalhousie and the performer/playwright behind “Lucien,” a series of one-person plays. A member of the Order of New Brunswick, he writes a biweekly satirical column for Brunswick News.