When my mother had surgery for a kidney tumor, dad and I sat in a large waiting room.
Well, I sat. He paced around. Or napped.
The chairs were comfortable, but couldn’t be moved. And the arm rests made it impossible to sleep across them.
There was no receptionist. Maybe if I grabbed her chair…
Dad got it, propped his feet up.
Stuck his tongue out at me.
The wall had a long mural, starting from a sunrise where children ran out and played, progressively getting older, until old people walked into the sunset.
Where the bathrooms were, of course.