“You don’t see that anymore,” said the man sitting with his family in the row of chairs facing ours. He was talking about Cheryl getting out of her chair to assist an old woman near us who was helping her much older mother into a wheelchair. “You don’t see people helping strangers much,” he added. My wife returned to her seat in the mini-community that was forming in the emergency waiting room as it continued its kinship development. We were intended to be there, and not just for medical reasons. I believe that we are put in places to do things with and for others.
Over the course of ten hours waiting to see a doctor at a hospital 1,200 miles from home, we connected to people, learned about their stories and challenges in life, and came to new (renewed) appreciation for the belief that, in terms of life and living, “we’re all in this together.”
The man who made the comment has spent way too much time in hospitals, thanks to ten heart events (attacks and strokes) over the years; he is the same age as Cheryl’s son. He has also been to court several times, dealing with having wages garnished to pay for past hospital bills. His attitude about life and its many challenges were inspiring and humbling. We had several hours to chat intermittently about a range of topics.
“Mr. Gray” sat in a row a bit kitty-corner to ours. He was in such pain that, for several hours, he fought back tears and used controlled breathing. He had hidden the intestinal-area pain from others for two weeks until he could not take it anymore. He and his wife held hands; sometimes the hold was a clench to cope with the pain. We talked, laughed and kept spirits light. While talking to him, we learned that his son, who was in the 101st Airborne in Romania, should be coming home soon. Surprisingly, while sitting there, he received a message from his son that he was actually leaving that day for home. We shared his joy. At one point, when he was out of the room, his wife thanked us for helping him with conversation, smiles, concerns and prayers. Once he was called in, we gave him big smiles and a thumbs up, which he returned amidst grimaces of pain as he walked across the waiting room. He had waited about eight hours to be seen by a doctor.
When the woman and her mother in a wheelchair were finally called to see a doctor, I stood and applauded for them. They smiled and responses from others in the full overflow waiting room ranged from smiles to looks of irritation. No matter. The two women left while we wrapped up our wait in the main waiting room hours later.
In our interactions with the doctor and nurses, we learned about their families, where they lived, which of their children still believed in Santa, how they ended up in their professions and much more. We laughed, chuckled, chatted. We connected, at least for the moments. And that’s the point.
I think we learned a lot about people, about challenges, about realities in places far from home, and much more. We were also reminded that, whenever possible: show kindness; share grace; we’re all in this together.