Hey, thanks doc

For folks who don’t know this tidbit, I work in a sorta healthcare facility generally helping folks who have active addicts, desperate poverty and/or nasty mental health issues.
I spend a lot of time in doctors’ offices, clinics and labs.

So, imagine my flurry of emotions when, for work, I had to take one of our clients to the Women’s Clinic at the local hospital. The clinic where I went when I had to meet my surgical oncologist for the first time. The next time I met him, we were all in those blue gowns and all of us had stupid bandana type things on our heads. Errr, the rest of it is kind of a blur for me, but you could ask the good doctor about it, he may still remember. Though probably not. I expect he has tossed quite a few scalpels in the sharps container in the last couple of years and my innards may or may not ring any bells for him.

Still, there I am, in his office, but not there to see him.

The receptionist called the name of the client I had brought and she trotted off to see her doctor. And I sat there for about a half hour.
I looked at the enormous number of files they had behind the counter and wondered if one of them was mine.

My surgeon wasn’t a terribly chatty guy, but I am fine with that.
In my flood of emotions, one of the things going through my overworked brain was that I’d like to see him again. Shake his hand and say thanks. Thanks for staying two and an half hours for a surgery that was only supposed to take 45 minutes. Thanks for staying late on a Friday afternoon, when I am sure you had some sweet young thing waiting for you on your sail boat down at the harbour. Thanks for explaining all that bad stuff to Elaine, and for writing it down and drawing little diagrams that I still find floating around the house from time to time.
Thanks for doing however many extra years of training it took to become a surgical gynecological oncologist. Thanks for being one of only 5 in my city. Thanks for apologizing when my incision got infected. I really don’t think it was your fault, I blame the rat-bag government who had just got the cleaning staff’s wages by 15% that very week.Besides, it seems to delight more than a few people that I now have 2 belly-buttons.

I work in a crazy ass job where I get burnt out, don’t get enough support, sometimes people throw things at me, sometimes it’s worse than that.
I do that because I really do believe that what we do with our lives is important and trying to help folks who are having a harder time than you is really what it’s all about.
Thank you for deciding to help other people.
What we do, sure, it’s really different, but it’s really the same.

Thanks, doc.

I just, you know, don’t have a boat.