In the Waiting Room

It has been awhile — too long, in fact — since my editor, best friend and faithful wife agreed to author a post. I think you’ll be blessed. She has an eye for the spiritual and a heart for people.

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So yesterday, I was sitting with my mom in the hematology/oncology waiting room. We were in Gadsden, Alabama for her routine checkup and I was practicing my deep-breathing relaxation technique because we were almost late for the appointment. (It is increasingly difficult to get my octogenarian parents out the door and into the truck, especially when their pentagenarian daughter is about as easily distracted as they are). And I hate being late.

After a while, they called mom back for bloodwork and I was left to watch and listen, neither of which I had planned to do.

Across from me, sat a couple waiting for treatment. They must have been cruise directors in a previous life. They repeated names for the hearing impaired. They saved seats for people who they knew would be gone for only a little bit. They watched over a fallen phone until the owner returned. They greeted new arrivals and adjusted everyone’s seating when more chairs were needed. And all the while, they performed these kindnesses with friendly, though fatigued, swollen, hairless faces. Chemo is hard. Before yesterday, recognizing and responding to the physical and emotional needs of folks in an entire waiting room had not occurred to me.

To my left, sat a talkative, middle-aged woman who was comfortable explaining to me the details of her cancer and the debate about how long doctors should leave her port in place. She was concerned, but matter of fact, and quite well-informed about the pros and cons of both removing the port and keeping it in place for future treatment. She spoke tenderly and sincerely to everyone who entered the room, and she told me her story without reservation. Before yesterday, the pluses and minuses of port removal after cancer treatment had not occurred to me.

To my right sat a young fellow, blue collar, tanned and tattooed, maybe in his mid-twenties, who, with his thick, confident southern drawl was talking nonstop to the guy next to him. This was a particularly easy chat for me to eavesdrop in on, not just because of the volume, but because the conversation was about football. Now listen folks, football is a subject 365 days a year in the state of Alabama. No tragedy, no celebration, and certainly NOT cancer, could ever interfere with such an important topic. And wouldn’t you know it, they were discussing the November 30, 2013, “Kick Six” Auburn win against Alabama. (I told my Georgia-fan husband seconds after Auburn’s score, that I, as a die-hard Tide fan, would take that loss to my grave…. and I was right).

Their conversation continued until the young man was called back, his aging, worried-looking mother in tow. They ended their talk with a good-natured “War D- – – Eagle,” and the genuine wish that each would receive good news. Before yesterday, I had not considered how joy and camaraderie could be shared by two strangers who were so very sick.

Those are only three examples, and I could easily tell four more stories about mom’s doctor visit.

About an hour later, she and I headed home. I picked up lunch for her and daddy, went to the grocery store, vacuumed, fussed about how they weren’t eating and drinking enough, and asked mom not to pull weeds in the yard in the middle of the day. I restocked their med calendar and retrieved untaken meds for recycling. I hugged them, told them I loved them, and that I’d be back later that week.

About seven years ago, I committed these scriptures from Philippians to memory:  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

And recently, after listening to a young mom who has suffered much personal tragedy all through her life, and who now has a sick infant, I have begun to memorize these words from Jesus in John 14:  “I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really loved me, you would be happy that I am going to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do happen, you will believe.”

May all the souls in that waiting room, along with you and me, find comfort in these words, and may we use all our energy to live like the freed people we are because of the grace of Jesus Christ.

Lord, come quickly.