Surprised

Colonoscopy, a word that conjures fear and trembling, but a part of "aging" which can't be denied.

As I walked into the clinic, I was not thinking about others around me.  I was thinking about getting it over with.  Yet those who were also waiting caught my eye.  The stooped older woman wore long skirts and a burka.  The man with her had coal black eyes, a touch of grey in his hair, and swarthy skin.  The young girl looked like her father, but like her mother, was covered from head to foot.

As the older man escorted his wife into the doctor's office,   I walked into the waiting room and greeted the girl, "Hallo", a casual, yet German, greeting.  The girl very clearly said, "hello".  My mind reeled. She had spoken English, not German.  And so I asked, "Do you speak English?"  "Yes." I smiled and repeated my greeting, but in English, "hello".  I may have said something else, but the exact words I don't remember.

Soon Smitty arrived and we read and chatted for the next 10 minutes while I awaited my exam, with the father and daughter sitting quietly across from us.  A week before I had been in the same waiting room with Smitty and I marveled again at the quiet and order there.

Promptly the doctor called me in, went over my medical history and led me to the examination room. The nurses and I worked through the limited German and English of each of us.  They were so gracious to me, even the needle felt painless.

On awakening, I realized my dreaded procedure was over and now I could eat and be "normal".  In a few moments the doctor came in, giving me good news, telling me I could go home.  My mind, a bit fuzzy, considered I would not have to do this again for five whole years!

Smitty walked me gently out the door, as I was still woozy, and on to the car, providing me a small container of yogurt.  We were headed home.  I felt as if quite a load had been lifted from my shoulders.

And then he told me.  "Carolyn, do you remember the people who were in the waiting room when you arrived?"  "Yes."  "As they left, the girl paused and told me to thank you for being so kind to her."  I began to cry.  Kind to her??  What had I done but follow the prompting of the Spirit within me to speak a few words to her.  Yet she considered that kind.  I thought about how nothing was "normal" for this girl.  Her life was filled with the uncertainty of a new home, new language, new country.  And, possibly, a mother facing a dreaded prognosis.

In retrospect I believe this procedure was more about the girl-the refugee family-than about my preventative medical care.  My heart has been breaking for refugees for months.  We are scheduled to go to Greece in June to help.  Where is this going?  I don't know.  But I think I'm learning to like the roller coaster life on which I am riding!