I was sitting in the waiting room of my migraine doctor's office, a practice area that she shares with the cardiac department at Swedish Hospital. I was mentally grousing about all the bits that seem to be broken in my body, and feeling a bit put-upon that this was my third doctor's appointment (out of 5) this week, thinking that this was no way to start the holidays.
Two separate incidents occurred while I was waiting my turn. The first eye-opener occurred while I was sitting there knitting. Across from me was a woman reading a book. She was wearing one of those face masks that you often see on people with compromised immune systems. She was about 55, looked to be in relatively good health and seemed calm, cool and collected as she read her mystery novel.
A couple of minutes later, another woman about my age sat down and the two of them started talking. Most of what was said between them was complete goobledegook to me, but in the fullness of time, I grasped that the first woman had completed her heart transplant and was there for one of her check-up appointments. The other woman was the mother of another heart transplant candidate, a young man of 19.
As they casually discussed their mutual status, I was really struck that I have nothing, NOTHING to complain about, no matter how many bits seem to be going awry. I found it interesting when the mother asked the other woman if her personality had changed at all. I guess that when you embed another humans organs, some of that person's residual energy can remain. She got an odd look on her face and said "I like yellow now. I used to hate it! But that's the only change that I've noticed." This I found interesting, but I was thunderstruck when the woman asked the mother "What number are you?". The mother looked a little downcast and reported that "Jeremy is 489. I don't know if we'll be able to wait that long." Jeremy, on the other hand, seemed upbeat, stating "Oh, Mom, don't be such a worry-wort... I'm strong!". The other woman replied, "I see great things ahead for you, son. With that attitude, you're sure to make it."
The second incident occurred shortly thereafter. On the other side of the hallway from the cardiac department came a family; father, mother and two children. The father was in a wheelchair, and had clearly lost a leg and sustained other injuries. That family was *so* happy, because Daddy was going to be home for Christmas. The children danced around and around the chair, while the nurse in charge hugged both adults long and hard. There was such a palpable sense of joy in their presence, and as the elevator doors closed behind them, it seemed as if all the light in that hallway traveled with them.
This sequence of events reminded me that your health is first and foremost, and that family follows closely behind. No matter what you've got that ails you, there is always, ALWAYS someone who is worse off than you. Take joy where you can, and show appreciation for what you've got. And never forget that we're *all* strong.
What a beautiful post and just what I needed to read right now. My troubles are so small compared to this! You are right about health being Number One.
Posted by: Margaret | December 30, 2005 at 05:35 PM
Wow! Thank you! The timing and depth of your writing is perfect! I needed to read this - you have grounded me and refocused my attention. You are wonderful! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season! XXOO
Posted by: dayle | January 03, 2006 at 09:30 PM