Thank You For Not Smoking

My Dear Hubby says he can tell what kind of day I've had from the second I phone him while walking to my car.

Is it a "Hi sweetie. Good, how was yours," kind of day?

Or

"Oh. My. Gosh. You will not believe such and such...." Apparently I can talk for 20 minutes, barely breathing in between thoughts, as I process the craziness I've been through. Sometimes I forget to ask him how his day has been until my head has stopped spinning.*

Today was that kind of day.

I had to phone the husband half of one of my favorite couples and tell him that he had lung cancer. He was at work. He wanted to know if he was going to live. He had that quiver in his voice that makes me want to dole out optimism the situation probably doesn't deserve. But I offered hope because he needs medicine of some kind, and medicine for these things is in short supply. There is always some kind of hope.

I had to watch a marriage implode. Literally, the wife walked out on her husband--maybe forever--while we met with he and the counselor. I watched him sort through the aftermath.

I had to deal with the family of a patient who can't figure out what to do with their 90 year old, demented and agitated mother, who they have neither the energy nor the money to get appropriate care for. I am as frustrated as they are.

The depth to which this work penetrates my psyche, my emotions, my heart never ceases to surprise me.

Thanks goodness I come home to this:




Watching her crawl around and explore her world peels away the layers of my day until it is just me and my little miracle. I wouldn't trade any of these experiences.


*Note to pre-meds: Marry someone with patience. :)