“You can wait here. We’ll come get you when the doctor is ready.”

I tighten the scrubs I’m wearing, sit on the bed, and get ready to wait. 

I left my phone in the changing room, there’s nothing to read here, so I decide to make the most of the opportunity and meditate. I’ve been pretty slack about that recently, so I might as well. 

For a while, that keeps me busy. Then I start feeling sleepy, and nod off for a bit. 

When I come to, I try to figure out how long I’ve been there, but there’s no way to tell. It could’ve been 20 mins or it could’ve been an hour. 

I start feeling annoyed: “What’s the point of asking me to arrive early and then leave me here waiting?” I think. 

It makes me wonder about all the times I waited around for a doctor: Are they arriving to work late? Do they book too many people in and can’t finish the appointments on time? Or are they actually savings lives and I’m being an ass for getting annoyed about it? Maybe I should try to find out… 

Then the irony of it hits me: I know this is likely to be very unpleasant, not only now but also for a few days after — so why am I in such a hurry to go through that? 

I look around the room properly for the first time. The nurse put up a screen separating me from the rest of the surgery wing, so all I can see is the empty bed to my right, a wall in front of me and, to my left, a wheelchair and… tiny cars? 

There are two ride-on cars, the type of electric toy cars kids can drive around in. One is a convertible, the other looks like a Jeep. 

First I think, “I guess that’s to keep kids busy while their parents get surgery.” I get this picture of little kids wearing scrubs, driving around, being chased by nurses, and causing complete chaos. Having those cars here seems like a very bad idea.

That makes me smile until I realise that it doesn’t make sense at all: family members aren't allowed to come all the way inside. So the only kids who could play with those cars… would be kids waiting to be operated on.

Maybe they would be here because they messed up a knee, or broke a leg, typical kid stuff, but my mind goes to a much darker place. 

I think of my own kids here, waiting, and reel back in horror. I shake my head, desperately trying to think of something else. 

That’s when the nurse comes back and says, 

“We’re ready for you now.”

I get off the bed and follow her, trying very hard to keep my eyes away from those toy cars in the waiting room. 

This story has two problems 

As a piece of literary storytelling, I think it works fine. But if I ever wanted to use it “on stage,” there are two things that would likely get me in trouble: 

If I tell this story live, there’s a chance the audience might start wondering why I’m there, what’s wrong with me, and either get annoyed I haven’t told them or, at the very least, get distracted and lose track of what’s going on.

Although it should be fairly clear the main thing I wanted to get across in this story was the fear of my kids getting seriously ill, maybe that wouldn’t come through. There’s no obvious character arc, no “opposite moment,” to make that obvious. And I don’t say anything at the very end to make it so.

But the fix is easy 

I could start this story live with “I’m in the hospital for a fairly routine procedure, nothing serious, when the nurse tells me…” That would cover it. Also, as I’ve said many times before, starting a story with a clear location helps the audience picture it and makes it more engaging. 

And, to finish it, I could’ve said something like, “That’s when I realised that, if the worst I’m feeling at the hospital is bored, then I’m lucky. It could easily be much worse than that.” 

(That’s better but not perfect. I’d probably need to have set that up more so the insight felt earned.) 

It's always best to end your story with some version of “That’s when I realised,” or “After that day, I always/never…”. Just be clear on how you’ve changed, and that will make it simpler for your audience to figure out if there’s something they can learn as well. 

(This is not to say you need to dumb things down for them, but when you’re storytelling live they can’t go back to what you said and think it through, so help them out.) 

Hospital visits aren’t usually fun… and they don’t always end well. That’s life, and there’s not much we can do about that. 

But fixing your stories… 

That’s no brain surgery 🤘

-Francisco 

Whenever you're ready, there are 3 ways I can help you:

Thanks for reading! Reply any time.