Terry's new doctor

At the end of last week we camped at a small private campground on our way to Rhonda's. Getting there was a story of it's own (3 passes at a road with a bridge out in the middle). But the teaching story was told by Terry, the campground manager. He's had a bad patch of health lately. 35 days in the hospital, nearly died 3 times, bowel resections, etc etc. Woke up after a month in the ICU and moved out to the general floor for a couple of days. He was doing poorly and hated the food and every time he'd fall asleep somebody would come in to bother him. His surgeon visited and asked if he thought he might heal faster at home. Terry allowed as how that might be true. So they arranged to discharge him and when his 6 other doctors had signed off, he left. 


By the time he got home at 10:30 pm his cousin, whose sister works up at the ER, called to say his doctor was dead. Just dropped dead of a heart attack on his way home. Now Terry was supposed to see him the next morning at the office and was shocked and frightened. He said he and his wife sat up most of the night crying. He had been so ill and this doctor had saved his life. How could this happen? What should he do? 


Well, in the morning they called the doctor's office and the office nurse said to come right in. The doctor's partner would see him. Well, turns out the doctor was was of those fur-i-ners. Kinda dark skin and hair. Spoke clear English but still, Iran had just stirred up trouble and Terry didn't really take to foreigners, he said. It turned out he wasn't middle eastern, Eye-talian, maybe Terry thought. Besides, his case had been so complex and the good doctor was really the only one who made sense of it all and how would this man know what to do?


But then Terry said the doctor had Terry's records and read them all the way through. And he asked lots of good questions, and was very very sad about his partner's death. The new doctor told Terry he thought it was overwork that killed him because many nights he only got 2-3  hours sleep in one of the little rooms at the hospital before starting to operate again. Terry said he was sorry that he had been part of the cause of the overwork, seeing as the doc had stayed to discharge him the night he died. The new doctor said not to even think that way because if it had not been Terry he was taking care of, it would have been someone else. It was just the way he was.

The doctor stepped out and they looked around the room and saw lots of plaques with Bible verses on them. Terry said to his wife, "I think we'll be all right. He's a good man."


My lesson was several fold. One was to listen to this gentle and kind man tell a long and detailed story while I wanted to start dinner. But when I asked the question, "Why were you in the hospital?" I had opened the door to southern story telling. No detail is too small. Secondly, I judged Terry pretty harshly in my mind when he used the word foreigners...and I expected to hear the 10,000 reasons why they are no good. But I didn't. Only that he did not take to them.  

And then I hung around until the miracle happened: not Terry's acceptance of his new doctor, but the miracle of my willingness to suspend my judgement and just be present as someone told me about his values and feelings. I can't say why Terry's story opened my heart so much. It began with his tale of running over his blue tick hound (I kid you not) on his second day home from the hospital. And it ended with a friend who invited us to stay again, any time. 


Written at Rhonda's and posted here in Galveston.  LC with RJ's good additions.