Of Waiting Rooms and Late Doctors

It takes a while for me to open up (my past Household heads / counterparts / household can attest to this) so to share this particular encounter, no matter how vague it may seem, is a pretty big step.

Two days ago, I was at St. Joseph’s Hospital. I wasn’t supposed to be there but because of an error the secretary made, my appointment was rescheduled. Armed with the knowledge that most of the 3 hours will be spent in the waiting room, I came prepared. I brought a book, a fully charged phone, and my rosary ring to calm me down as I usually get anxious when I’m waiting for my turn.

About 45 minutes in, I was told by my nurse that because my doctor, who’s the only one allowed to administer the medication is running late, I should add an extra 30 minutes to the waiting period. Because I was starting to get a bit impatient and restless, I decided to pray. The lady to my right looked curiously every time I turned the ring. By the fifth mystery, her curiosity got the better of her and she asked if I had OCD because I was turning the ring in a slow and deliberate manner (maybe the normal way is to turn it quickly? I don’t know… I didn’t really ask). I explained to her that I was saying the rosary. She apologized for interrupting, told me to finish, and to speak to her afterwards.

When I was done, she told me that she grew up Catholic. But because of something that happened, she lost her faith and would only go to Church during Easter and Christmas. While her husband would go to Church every Sunday, she would stay home to cook lunch for him or tend to their pets and their garden. Our conversation turned to why we were there and when she found out that we were there for the same reason, she asked me why I still prayed. Why I still went to Mass to give thanks. I did not know whether to answer because I feared I might sound condescending but in the end, I did.

The gist of my reply was: I pray and give thanks because He is good. And forever will be good. I anchor myself in Him because to lose faith when things become difficult is the easy way out. To focus on the hurt is to act like the elder son in the parable of the prodigal son: it is to disregard the blessings He is showering me with. I choose to believe that He has a plan for me. What I thought was a situation that would leave me wallowing in sadness and despair is turning out to be the complete opposite because through this, I’m finding strength I did not know I was capable of having. I told her that even though I find it hard sometimes, I have to constantly remind myself that what I understand at this point in time is all that He is letting me. In His time, it will all make sense. I added that when it gets really bad and my heart breaks into pieces, I let it happen. I tell myself that it’s okay not to have it together all the time because it allows God to work in me. To have my heart broken gives Him the chance to mend it again.

She was called by her nurse so we had to stop talking. My doctor eventually came and after the medication was administered, they told me to go back to the waiting room since they had to wait an hour before they could do the second round of blood work. When I came back, I was surprised to see her there because she was a step ahead of me (her second round of blood work was done and she could leave after it was taken). She told me that it’s not the first time she heard those words – her husband and friends would tell her the same things though she did not pay them heed because it sounded like they were just saying those to keep her optimistic. To hear those words from someone in the same situation made everything seem more genuine and real. She thanked me because even with the acknowledgement that it will take time for her faith to be completely restored and for her to completely heal, our conversation has helped her to start opening her heart to Christ again. (:

Last week, I had a one on one with a sister. One of the things we talked about was the importance of sharing our experiences no matter how insignificant we may think they are. Because until we do, we won’t know who might benefit from them. Prior to this encounter, it never occurred to me that my story could keep someone engaged for two hours or inspire someone to welcome Christ into their life again. But what just transpired affirms the beauty that can be found in sharing not only the joy we experience but also the cross(es) that we carry. What we may think is our darkest hour may be what other people need in order for them to find hope in Christ again.

This illness will not end in death; rather it is for God’s glory, and the Son of God will be glorified through it. – Jn. 11:4