In this together

 I have started a "Readers and Writers Salon" which meets once a month where we either share writing we like or writing we have done.  And this is what I wrote this month:

The women come

Usually solo but sometimes in twos or even threes.

But mostly they come alone.   Dressed in a variety of ways – scarves, spangles, jeans, tennis shoes, robes, dresses, hajibs,  suits,  high heels, scrubs.  Most speak English but some come with translators.   The women range in age and have a variety of expectations.  

For some, this is an annual mammogram that the doctor requires, for others it is a look back after a questionable test.  Some are here for bone scans and others for a biopsy.  They are the ones who often have companions – a daughter with a mother, a wife with a husband.  The women  come and go all morning long .

After Latasha or Jen check them in, I open the  door and show them the  dressing area and ask my questions and give instruction.   The first question is always:   : “ Did you use deodorant or lotion?” Followed by:    Here is your robe and a locker.  Take off everything above the waist, tie the robe in the front.  Are you having a bone scan?  I inquire about metal in their clothing,  calling attention to zippers and hooks on bras.  Then they go into the tea room, waiting for their name to be called.

 

And I take paperwork to the nurses and techs and then go back to the waiting room until the next woman needs to be escorted back.  

I am a volunteer who spends 4 hours weekly opening doors and closing curtains, giving out robes, and inviting women into the lovely tea room -  a place of peace where there are magazines to read,  soft music playing and tea and coffee available.

I go back and forth all morning – lugging the used robes into the backroom, refilling the shelves, checking on coffee, water, cream and sugar.   I am a pleasant face, a helpful presence and mostly unseen.

I enjoy sitting in the waiting room during the lulls between women and watching people entering the medical building.  There are  people of all ages, stages  and races.  Many hobble on their way in, holding onto walkers or canes.  I see   racing children with patient parents and older couples holding hands.  

At the same time the TV in the waiting room is always on HGTV and so I watch parts of episodes of “Love it or List it” or “House Hunters” or “Beachfront Bargain Hunt”  - all of which show people who are younger than me, richer than me and definitely pickier than me selecting a home.

And I realize how easy it is to live in our  own little bubble of privilege and particularity. On most days I am  with people close to my own age, race, religion and class.

But Friday mornings in this little job I find myself pondering some  of the great mysteries of life.

I ponder the sheer variety of people that populate Columbus.  I marvel at the differences in attire and attitude of women that come and go through the this medical building.

I ponder  the mystery of our health that unites all of us.  We live in amazing, powerful  and yet fragile bodies.  We are all one cancer screening away from truly confronting our own mortality.

And finally,  I ponder the mystery of the human relationships.  Some people wondered about my working here – are you counseling?  Doing Pastoral care?  No.  I smile, I speak their name, hand out a robe, show them to the next room.  

Sometimes there has been more: a very teary woman told me that she was having a biopsy and I prayed for her.  Another time a woman shared that this was her first mammogram without her mother and we talked about grief together.  

But mostly I enjoy the simplicity of service to another that makes a little connection because ultimately  I find hope believing that   we are all in this  together.