Day 560- Doctor My Eyes

Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand

I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can

Doctor, my eyes
Tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long

‘Cause I have wandered through this world
And as each moment has unfurled
I’ve been waiting to awaken from these dreams

Yesterday I had to go to the doctor for a checkup. I detest going to the doctor.  Their job is to look for things that are wrong.  My philosophy is that if you look for things that are wrong, you’re going to find them. I just needed a refill for my blood pressure medication but since the doctor I saw once, over a year ago, left the practice, the new guy insisted on seeing me before writing a new script.

I only go to the doctor when forced to. Tywana chose my last doctor, a woman. I went to her for 19 years until she moved on.  I get along better with women than with men, so that worked for me. Tywana was seeing her, too. When she left, Tywana switched to a practice that specializes in seeing women. They also see men though. Since I had had a female doctor for close to two decades I thought I’d just to go Tywana’s practice. I saw one female doctor there once before she left the practice.  So, I decided to take the next available appointment. To my surprise, they gave me a guy.  Wow. This is weird. A male physician seeing a male patient in a woman’s practice. I’m OK with that. Just get me, weigh me, take my blood pressure and I’ll see in on a year or two.

The guy walks in 25 minutes late (on time for a doctor I guess).  He’s an old, chubby, white guy (probably my age).  I’m thinking, keep the answers to the questions short, do the minimum and get out of here.  I’ve got things to do and this guy’s already late. There’s not going to be any rapport with this guy and I’m not looking for a buddy.  Let’s keep this business-like, short and sweet.

He asks the standard questions about any shortness of breath, chest pains, all that stuff.  No, no, no.  Everything’s good.  Before I went I was wondering what to tell him about my mental state.  Am I depressed? Is it called depression when you have good reason for the sadness that pervades your life? What’s the point of telling him?  I don’t want medication. Medication won’t help.  There’s nothing he can do.  So, there’s no reason for him to know.  But, when he asks the questions about my cardiovascular health, I find myself telling him that I walk five miles a day in about an hour.  There are no problems with that.  Then, I go on to tell him why I walk so much.  Walking is my time for reflection. It’s a way to get out the anger and to deal with the sadness caused by the fact my daughter died a year and a half ago.  I tell him about my meditation practice. I tell him I was contemplating telling him about the “depression”, but that I don’t think medication is indicated.  Surprisingly, he agrees with all of this.  He’s not going to try to push pills on me.  He says we need to go through these emotions.  He tells me that the walking is probably better than any medication I could take.  He is taken aback at my mention of the loss of Shayna. He tells me he cannot even imagine what that would be like and that he doesn’t know if he could handle it.  I tell him he could. We are stronger than we think we are and we do what we have to do.

He then tells me about how he sees things like this in his practice. He tells me of a woman who lost two sons, her only two sons, to heroin.  He doesn’t know how she goes on.  He tells me he doesn’t think the world was meant to be this way, that it’s broken. We do bad things. Bad things happen. But, this wasn’t the design.  I respectfully disagree. I tell him I don’t think it’s broken at all.  I tell him that I think that everything happens for a reason and all is in perfect order. I tell him I believe in Divine Providence. I even mention that people who have had NDEs can see this divine order. I temporarily forget that doctors are notoriously atheistic and not interested in the afterlife. He mentions that, as he looks back at his life, he can see how things, even the bad things, have fallen into place.  I tell him that, from this mortal perspective, things as bad as the transitioning of a child, cannot make sense. But, if from his mortal perspective, he can see how these minor inconveniences are part of the plan, maybe from that higher perspective, once we have risen above this, we can see how even something as bad as the loss of a child will make sense.

He reaches his hand out to me and we shake. He tells me that I have inspired him and made a big difference in his day.  He also tells me that I have inspired him to start walking again.

Just this morning I was listening to a Podcast on how our lives have meaning and even the small moments, maybe especially the small moments are important in the shaping of our character and that is why we are here.  As I leave his office, I wonder if this was one of those moments.