Don’t Just Look, See
It was a normal Tuesday morning, other than the fact that I had taken my friend to her radiation appointment. She has terminal, stage 4, bladder cancer, and I had volunteered to take her to this same radiation appointment for the past several days.
As I sat on this particular day in that radiation waiting room, the silence of the room struck me. Yes, we had masks on to do our part in the pandemic for the safety of others, which tends to cause everyone to talk a bit less, but it’s also not a room where people are in the mood to be overly chatty.
Alone with my thoughts for a few minutes, my mind went to where it usually goes when I start reflecting … to the fact that I was a widow and that I missed my husband like crazy. Just to be able to tell him about this outing when I got home would be nice, I thought. I felt a bit sorry for myself. But then my mind shifted to my friend sitting next to me. At least I wasn’t fighting stage 4 cancer. I wondered what thoughts were going through her head as we sat there in the palpable silence. She had to be wondering how much time she had left, maybe even how she felt about the “after life”. That thought triggered a quick leap to Scripture, and I was reminded of the verse “blessed are those who believe but have not seen.” Almost without thought, I acknowledged that this is where the apostle “Doubting Thomas” got his name … because he did not believe until he touched Jesus’ body and felt the scars. Does my friend believe, I wondered? Do I?
My thoughts were interrupted when my friend was called back for radiation, and I gazed around the waiting room and now thought about the others who were sitting there. One sweet (but sad) looking woman, probably somewhere in her 40’s, was there again. I say “again” because I had noticed her each day that I was there. We had a bit of a zig zag pattern going during these appointments, where her patient was already back in treatment when we arrived, then my patient would get called back, and ultimately her patient would return to the waiting room having finished her appointment while I was still waiting. On this particular day, I felt the need to speak to her and tell her that I had noticed her there each day, and that it was obvious to me that it was her little girl who was doing radiation. I acknowledged that I hated to see someone so young having to go through this process and I hoped that, in her case, everything was going to be okay. The woman, tears in her eyes, thanked me for approaching her and was appreciative of my concern. What she said next took my breath away: “that is my little girl … she is just turning 18 and is at end-of-life brain cancer.” She went on to tell me that her daughter had fought hard for several years, having nine craniotomies in her short life, but the fight no longer was working. My heart sank for this beautiful mom and her little girl. As they headed for the door, they quietly said “see you tomorrow” as they passed the receptionist and me.
Only moments later, I found myself engaged in a conversation with that same receptionist as she walked by me to check the coffee pot. What started with a simple “how are you today?”, quickly somehow turned into a discussion of the war in Ukraine. It turns out this receptionist was from Ukraine and grew up in a smaller city about 100 miles from Kyiv. Her heart was broken for the many friends she still had there. I tried to imagine how she must feel while she watched the television coverage of the devastation and the war crimes being committed in her home community. She shared that the cemetery where her father was buried was bombed, and she would never again be able to visit his grave. “Why would they do such a thing?”, she asked me. She didn’t understand, and neither did I.
As she returned to her desk to wait on an incoming patient, I again began to reflect, mostly on the conversations I had just had. The waiting room had taught me something that day. Oh, I mean, I already knew it, but I guess I needed a little reminder. It became so clear to me that everyone is going through something. The people in that waiting room … in line at the grocery store … in the traffic jam on your way home … in church or at school … at work … the seat next to you on the airplane … everyone, everywhere. When we look at people, do we really see them? Next time, look into their eyes, and know that they too have a story. Be kind. Be patient. Listen. Share a smile. Live consciously, and be grateful.