Anna, a buttoned-up American school teacher in her 30s or 40s, has
Start: You begin to hope that the wait is proportionate to the medical expertise. My God. My feet are turning blue. Where am I? An HMO? The problem with being an adult is that you never forget why you’re waiting.
[... … …]
End: The trouble would escalate, until my hands were battling each other to the death. Then one of them would weep. Finally, they became friends again, and they’d dance—(Anna’s two hands dance together).
Paula Vogel, The Baltimore Waltz, Dramatists Play Service, 1992, p. 47.
More about this monologue