By Betsy Gonwa, 
In walked the doctor, followed by an assistant pushing a wheeled cart with a computer on top. The door to the examining room closed. The doctor told me my test results and gave me options for treatment. “You can decide which one you want now ….” he began, “or you can get back to me later.” He appeared to be waiting for my answer, but to me it felt like the visit was over. I was reminded of a different day, many years ago, me sitting on the examining table, asking questions, the doctor’s hand on the doorknob. Now like then, it seemed I was just one more “next in line, please” filling a 15-minute time slot
Another day. Another doctor. This doctor apologized for keeping me waiting and engaged me in conversation. “So, you’re working,” he commented upon seeing the notebook on my lap. This ensued a brief conversation on the practice and value of journaling.
As the visit continued, he asked about my work and how it was being affected. I faltered a little, trying to explain what I do and, thinking my explanation was sort of vague, I was surprised at his affirming response, giving value to me and to how I occupy my time. In those few minutes, we were connected, and I began to feel at ease.
He shared some details from my test results, and then put my symptoms in the context of the bigger picture, explaining how each system impacted the other. After that, he listened to my heart, listened to my lungs, then asked me to lower my mask and looked, briefly, in my mouth. For this doctor, it seemed that I was more than a set of numbers on a computer screen.
After that we discussed options for treatment, with him taking time to answer my questions, address my concerns and alleviate my doubts. When he suggested a follow-up visit in thirty to ninety days, I began to construct a calendar in my head. “How about May …,” I began, hesitating, and then, confident that I would be heard, I changed course and decided to explain. “I’m anticipating a grandchild in April and I plan to be there to help out,” I said. I doubt that I would have shared this detail of my life had I not been so welcomed and felt as at ease as I did.
He then asked the due date and I told him. I was still considering a date that would not force me to return earlier than I wanted to, but he was making his own calculations. Before I could even suggest a date, he suggested we meet two weeks before the due date, at the earlier end of the suggested time frame for follow-up.
“You’ll want to stay as long as you can,” he said. “It’s a new baby!” He had done some quick math and made an adjustment so that I wouldn’t have to hurry back. I wondered if my eyes conveyed relief or if perhaps my brow had relaxed. Whatever the case, I felt myself smiling, and I imagined that he was smiling, too. After the visit, he exhibited his care for me once more by accompanying me to the reception area and instructing the person at the desk to schedule an appointment for the second week in April.
Driving away, I realized that my body was experiencing a sense of coming together again. The first doctor had treated an ailment. The second doctor treated me. In that examining room, we were more than doctor and patient. We were human beings.
I was moved by the way the care and consideration of one doctor impacted me, and I began to wonder about my own behavior. How do I treat others? Do I put their humanity first? Or do I sometimes get so caught up in my role that I fail to see the human being in front of me as a gift of God? What about you?
