Recently, I had occasion to take an elderly gentleman (and his wife) to a doctor’s appointment. This appointment was but one in the midst of many over the course of several weeks. The gentleman rode quietly in the wheelchair as I pushed it down the corridor of the all too familiar institutional beige walls and Bakelite signs silently giving instructions to those who would seek them. Occasionally, the man would raise his hand and say “turn left here” or “fourth floor”, but for the most part, we traversed the territory in silence; my head turning to look behind us to confirm the man’s wife was making her way in the wheelchair that was to enable her to cover the distance we had to travel.
When we checked in and the man’s name was called, the three of us made our way (wheelchairs and all) into the doctor’s office
Lining the walls which were desperate to be painted, were photographs. There were pictures of Jimmy Hendrix and Janis Joplin next to a picture of guys decked out in full military gear with their arms draped over one another nonchalantly, next to frames with records of successful schooling achievements. Also, there were two plush stuffed toys in the shape of emojis; one was a smiley face that had tears streaming out of its eyes, and the other was a pile of (excuse me for saying this) poop.
There was a small oak curio cabinet which held various items including a military issue helmet, several patches including one of the American flag and a few small green plastic army figurines; each depicting a different stance.
And, there was a mannequin with a flack jacket loosely covering its torso; definitely worn, with a patch and a last name sewn into it.
Along one wall was an examination table which I imagine is used on occasion. However, in this case, it was covered with myriad magazines in obviously different states of reading completion.
When the doctor entered, I was immediately struck by his kind smile and casual nature. He wore hospital scrubs and Crocs, and was most certainly at home in this unusually adorned examination room.
When the doctor finished introducing himself around, he turned and asked the elderly gentleman his name and what “branch” he was in. Upon hearing the gentleman explain that he was in the Navy, the doctor smiled broadly and said “I won’t hold that against you”. You see, the doctor had served in the Army. However, from that moment forward, the doctor and the elderly gentleman shared a familiarity that from the outside looking in, needed no explanation. You see, these two men were decades apart in age and lifetimes apart in experience, but they both spent a portion of their lives in service to their country. One was now here to assist the other, and their rapport was both familiar and respectful.
The elderly gentleman’s conversation with the doctor covered what ailed him, where he had served and the work he had done, and a banter that held a little levity and a bit of sarcasm; both of which felt refreshing in an otherwise serious and somewhat frustrating time for the gentleman and his wife. I noticed the doctor calling the gentleman “brother”. I noticed the detail the gentleman was giving the doctor – it seemed as if he was enjoying telling his story to his younger comrade. And, I noticed the doctor was speaking directly with the elderly gentleman; fully expecting him to respond without needing assistance.
As we prepared to leave, we were waiting at the elevator, and a woman who worked there greeted the three of us, asking if we had gotten all the help we needed.
In the long corridor back out to the parking lot, on the left hand side, was a small room (the same size as the room upstairs), with beige walls and a couple of barber’s chairs and sinks. Although it was ten past four and the door was open, the two women in the shop were talking about leaving as we happened in. The elderly gentleman’s wife asked if “since we were there, the gentleman could get his hair cut”. The women agreed; one heading outside for a cigarette, while the other tended to the man.
The hairdresser greeted the man by his first name and asked how he was feeling that day. They carried on an easy conversation, and when she was finished, the woman helped the gentleman back into his wheelchair.
As I left the building that day, I was moved by the profound respect and kindness I witnessed being shared with the elderly gentleman. There seemed to be time enough for “everything”; even a late in the day hair cut. The dignity afforded him by those tending his needs was a reminder of what is possible when we use our shared experiences to extend ourselves to one another.
I am grateful for the opportunity to see all of this. You see, I did not serve in the military. Robert (the elderly gentleman and my Mom’s husband) served. His need for help that day enabled me to have the experience I did inside the VA Medical Center in the town where they live.
Beautifully expressed.