As I handed her the list of names, she giggled just a bit as she said, “Man, this is a Who’s Who at KU Medical Center. Impressive.”
I snorted back with, “I’ve always been kind of an overachiever.”
We talked about our kids. We talked about our husbands. We talked about life.
Woman to woman, we just talked.
And yeah, we talked about all the things too. It was a doctor’s appointment after all. And she was the newest member of my medical dream team.
But even so, when it was time to go, I half-hugged her and said a heartfelt, I-really-do-need-you kind of thank you.
This.
This moment. This exchange. This cut-the-stuff humanity.
It took me back to something I came to terms with a long time ago.
Doctors. Nurses. Aides. Techs. Transport. Office Staff.
All of them need our compassion. All of them need our patience. All of them need a whole lot of Jesus with skin on.
Seriously, they do.
The death. The anguish. The anger.
The impatience. The bad moods. The disappointment.
The overdoses. The accidents. The poo.
(The poo thing, by the way, is both literal and figurative.)
All of them bear it together all day, every day.
My smack-me-upside-the-head moment came in a surgeon’s waiting room. I could tell the doc was running late by the expression on the face of the lady at the desk. I almost cried for her right then and there.
But I was fresh. I hadn’t waited yet. Compassion came easy.
And then 20 minutes later…
A lady who had loudly expressed her displeasure during all twenty of said minutes stood up and shouted, “LISTEN!!! If I have to wait another 10 minutes, I am going to start smoking in this freaking (edited) waiting room!!!!”
And then 30 minutes later...
Another soul got in the face of a nurse and yelled, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CAN GET A FLEET PREP KIT WITHOUT A PRESCRIPTION???????? I AM TELLING YOU I CAN’T, BOO BOO (also edited for a name that starts with a B.)
And then an hour later…
I found my own frustration begin to grow. My inner-monologue even devolved into a, “Come on, people.” And I began to bounce my foot in silent protest.
But all my angst was soon ended with a cheery, “Sara?”
As we walked back to the room, the nurse said, “Sorry. Rough day in the ER. The doc runs clinic simultaneously on days he’s on call so that patients don’t have to wait so long to get an appointment. But when he’s needed for consult, our schedule gets pushed back. Poor man has been running around all day.”
I smiled with a slight falsetto, “No problem, emergencies happen.”
(To be honest, I didn’t really mean it.)
But then he walked into the room, gently apologizing and asking my forgiveness. As I muttered something, I kept thinking his face looked familiar. But then we began chatting about surgical options and I forgot all about it.
Forgot until I found tomorrow and a few days after that. It just kept nagging me over and over again. And then one day, it clicked.
This man had been the trauma surgeon on call for the ER the day I went into septic shock.
Somewhere in his kind eyes, his gentleness, his smile, my jumbled brain remembered. So I asked around, "Was he? Could he? I think I remember...?" In return, "Most likely. Entirely possible. Yeah, that sounds about right."
And then it hit me.
That day, patients waited because of me. That day, patients got angry because of me. That day, he braved a mess so he could give a consult that would save my life.
That day. That moment. That exchange.
That cut-the-stuff humanity.
Reminded me that love isn’t rude or meant to bunch my drawers or make me think my stuff doesn’t stink.
Instead, love considers.
The death. The anguish. The anger.
The impatience. The bad moods. The disappointment.
The overdoses. The accidents. The poo.
(Both literal and figurative.)
Love sheds my fleshiness. Love lets go of my self-importance. Love sees beyond my schedule.
And trades it all for Jesus.
Because. Really.
At the end of the day, we already know…
Love waits.