The automatic door to the medical building swung open on
cue and we hurried inside, eager to escape the
sting of winter’s cold bite. I stomped
snow from my new, attractive boots and threw back the hood of a coat I’d
received for Christmas, fuzzy-edged with classy fur.
Then I saw her, a forlorn woman sitting alone in the waiting
room. Her wiry gray hair flew in all
directions as if pulled to stiff attention by static electricity. A thin jacket fell from her shoulders; sweatpants
bulged with twice the flesh they were meant to contain.
What was her story? She
must also be scheduled to see one of the twenty-some cardiologists in this practice.
If so, we shared something in common. I could identify in some measure if only
because I continue to live my husband’s cardiac story with him.
As we waited to approach the receptionist’s desk and check
in, we spoke softly with each other in line, chuckling occasionally. Something dropped from the woman’s floppy
canvas bag, and my husband reached down to pick it up for her. “Thank you, sir,” she mumbled from a toothless mouth, gesturing in recognition
with her head in a way that almost, almost
allowed her to look up at him. I caught a
fleeting glimpse of her hollow, expressionless eyes before she resumed looking
at the floor.
Who were we from her perspective? Two preppy types with nice clothes? A fairytale, happily-ever-after couple with
an easy, smooth story compared to hers?
I wanted to somehow encourage her, to let her know she was
noticed. Her story, whatever it was,
mattered. Eye contact would have allowed at least a smile, but that was out of
the question: her gaze was glued to the floor. Initiating conversation out of the blue would
have been too awkward, too forward.
So I turned away from her.
When the nurse called us she was still seated in the same chair, a cold,
chiseled statue, utterly alone amidst a bustling community of other heart
patients with similar stories, or at least ones with overlapping chapters. If only she could connect with someone here
- just one person – who might understand and connect with her journey. Such a beautiful thing, I
thought, and yet so rare and elusive. Perhaps
her doctor? Or the nurse?
This evening I wonder how things went, and pray for her encouragement.
