I woke up fussy this morning. The bedroom was too hot; I got deodorant on my favorite sweater; my pants were too tight. And, not only is the glitter of Christmas gone, but today my husband and I have to resume his chemo treatments.
Once on the road to Massey Cancer Center, I tailed a guy until he hit his brakes and waggled his finger at me. I don’t blame him; I was completely obnoxious.
I realized my car was low on gas, so I pulled into a 7-11 at record speed and ran around the car as if I were a member of Jeff Gordon’s pit crew. Miraculously, we arrived at the hospital without one fender bender.
Once we arrived, I realized I had forgotten to remove the car key for the valet. I told my husband to run ahead to get signed in, even though we were twenty minutes early.
As my husband got registered, I found our usual seats and began to catch up on social media. I wanted to feel productive.
My husband joined me and said they didn’t have him on the schedule, but they were working it out. I figured it was going to be a long wait.
Then Fern arrived . . .
A former patient came through the waiting room exclaiming, loudly, “And there she is ladies and gentlemen, the magnificent, the amazing, the magical Fern – the woman who saved my life!!!” She ran down the hallway and grabbed Fern, a nurse who has made us laugh and provided us with warm hugs when we’ve needed them most.
As this woman went to hug Fern, she said, “This woman helped me heal.” A man got up from his seat, and hugged them both. “She’s been there for me too,” he said. A couple in the corner stood and the wife said with a slight German accent, “She’s wonderful. All the nurses here are amazing!”
A group hug ensued as they all put their arms around Fern. As my husband and I smiled, I looked at him and said, “I love this place.”
Suddenly, my road rage seemed juvenile. Actually, it was juvenile. My depression about tight pants was just embarrassing. I wondered how many drivers’ days I had ruined on a single trip into the hospital. I suddenly wanted to be more like Fern.
Three Ways to be More Like Fern . . .
As I took my husband back to the house this morning, I realized that I had forgotten to take the dog to doggie day care. Then I got to the office and all the spaces were taken by people who don’t even work at our office building. I sat down and turned on my computer and the internet was down.
I think someone’s trying to teach me something. So, I ask myself, “What would Fern do?”
And I smile.