OCTOBER 30, 2024 – Today I went to a doctor’s appointment. For the first time in a decade (when my parents were alive), it wasn’t on my own account. The patient was a severely ailing family member, however, and for months my wife and I had been working on getting him to today’s appointment. By the good offices of a close family friend who happens to be a family doc, the appointment was with a second-year resident of the clinic.
Beforehand I’d asked the family member if he wanted me to accompany him to the clinic and whether he wanted me in the examination room for the entire appointment. I made it clear that it was his decision, not mine, and that I wouldn’t try to sway him one way or the other. I assured him, however, that unless he solicited comment or information from me, I would be a silent observer. In the event, the patient needed me to drive and wanted me to be present for the appointment. I kept my word. Except for greeting and farewell, I said not a word; just listened and observed.
Since the onset of symptoms during my own medical challenge three years ago, I’ve had dozens upon dozens—make that scores—of medical appointments, if all the lab, test and “sub-cu” injections are included on top of numberless encounters with PAs and physicians. I found it strange to be an observer, for a change, instead of a patient. The experience was a bit like watching a video of a medical exam as opposed to being the subject being videoed.
The resident in charge of today’s appointment was superb. If he was probably less than half my age, he projected the maturity, confidence and ability of a physician many years older than he was. As he built his rapport with the patient, the close family member, I concluded that this gifted young doctor was the perfect choice. When I saw his write-up on the health system’s website, I was even more impressed. Here was an individual whose life experiences reflected his genuine dedication to making this world a better place.
After the resident consulted with a preceptor (supervising doc) down the hall, both docs returned to the exam room for a few more questions, double-checking and consultation. The upshot would be blood tests, x-rays and an ultra-sound. As soon as results are in hand, a follow-up appointment will be scheduled.
After weeks of struggle and despair, hope and direction emerge—and reveal again, consistent with my own medical experience over the past three years—the amazing extent to which medical caregivers are angels masquerading as human beings.
Against the rising anxiety over the direction of our country, encounters of the sort I had today restore my faith in humanity. Despite all the noise, anger and vitriol unleashed upon us by dark forces, there are plenty of really good people in this world. Moreover, the younger ranks among us have plenty of bright shining lights, such as the resident physician who made a hugely positive difference in his last appointment of the day.
It was a wonderful sequel to an earlier encounter I’d had late this morning—just 200 feet from our front yard.
By way of background, several years ago the tidy house diagonally across from our end of the block sold to an older Boomer couple. My wife and I never quite got around to meeting them and welcoming them to the neighborhood.
In the middle of the record tough winter two years ago, I met the couple’s son shoveling their front sidewalk. He and his wife and young son lived several blocks away, and in our conversation I learned that his parents had moved up from Florida to be close to the son’s family and sole grandchild. He told me his parents’ first names, which were easy for me to remember, because the dad shared the same name as a close college friend of mine, and the mother’s name was the same as the distinguished mother of my college friend. The next time I saw either of them out in their yard, driveway or sidewalk, I’d be able to welcome the couple by name. If they were anything like the son, they’d be interesting, engaging, amiable people. I looked forward to the opportunity.
That winter was especially long, and people in these parts were held captive to an indoor existence far too long into what is normally spring. When summer arrived, the clock and calendar seemed to accelerate—and held the frenetic pace through last fall and the exceedingly warm winter that followed. Another spring and summer flew past. October arrived—bringing an Amy Klobuchar campaign sign to their yard and Harris/Walz signs to ours. Not surprisingly (our town has voted Democrat by lopsided margins as far back as I can remember checking the secretary of state’s figures), we’re of a similar political persuasion, providing an easy ice-breaker for conversation.
This morning as I raked and bagged leaves frantically ahead of the impending adverse turn in the weather, I looked over at the “tidy house,” which, by the way, has seen many significant and attractive improvements since the current owners assumed possession. A tastefully amusing array of Halloween “blow-up” decorations lit up the corner of the yard. What caught my eye, however, was the open garage doorway behind the house. Perhaps, I thought, one or the other of the couple is still putzing around inside the garage. I should wander over and seize the chance to introduce myself—and apologize for not having done so a good year or two sooner.
No one appeared, however, inside or outside the garage or between garage and house. Undeterred, I approached the house door closest to the street; a side door next to what seemed to be a kitchen window revealing a light on inside. I could ring the doorbell, and if someone was in the kitchen, they would peer through the window and see it was me—a non-threatening senior citizen fetchingly oblivious to the stray leaf or two on his cap.
Soon the woman of the house came to the door. I introduced myself as “the neighbor from the gray house over there—second one in” who’d met her son two winters ago and had been meaning long ago to welcome “our new neighbors” to the neighborhood and was now apologizing for having taken so long.
With an easy smile and welcoming face, she projected a warm personality and positive outlook—reinforced by her sweatshirt bearing the words, “Be Kind to Everyone.” Very soon into the conversation she revealed an inner strength: when her husband was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, they’d decided to move up to Minnesota. He’d received the best care in the world at Mayo, but his time was up a year ago. I’d had no idea. The son hadn’t revealed to me a thing about his father’s condition.
We struck up a conversation, wherein I learned that she still free-lanced a bit as a grant-writer, having been heavily involved in a Florida non-profit helping migrant farmworkers. We talked about the “bonus weather” we’d been blessed with most of October; the wonder of grandchildren; the wonderful neighbors with whom we were mutually acquainted; and in these tumultuous political times, the importance of acknowledging and drawing hope from all the good people in the world.
I invited her to join us for our Election Day evening gathering of “faithful.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to do that. Should I bring anything?”
“No just lots of hope and faith,” I said.
After the clinic visit, I realized just how important hope and faith are in our daily lives; hope that in whatever jungle or darkness we find ourselves, there’s a path forward and light at the end of it; faith that even when we can’t see or find a favorable outcome, a positive result will seek and find us.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
