Reading Sonya’s comment got me thinking that she’s right, but there’s a flip side to it: the medical personnel who take care of us are, by and large, people who were drawn to the profession wanting to spend their days helping others. But in real life, that translates to their being immersed in the problems and troubles and pains of their fellow men, day in and day out, and that’s got to be hard at times. It about broke my heart to read one doctor’s lamenting to Dr. Rachel Remen in one of her books, that, if they make a difference to their patients, “The patients never tell you.”
Think what a difference a thank you can make.
I have a close friend I grew up with who was hospitalized for awhile, who felt his doctor had gone well above and beyond for him. He wrote the attending a note telling him that, and how grateful he was for it. He was quite surprised to get a long letter back, thanking *him*.
When I was in Stanford Hospital four years ago in critical condition, there was one resident whose comings and goings I mostly slept through, but I did see him a few times. We never had any kind of a real conversation, it was mostly just him reciting the list of meds I’d be transfused with that day. One of which was experimental, after the normal ones didn’t work; I guess that helped make me a little more memorable. Surgery wasn’t really an option–I had too many other things wrong.
So. Quite a few months later, I was at a concert of the Harvard Glee Club, and the director, at the end, invited all former members of the Club to come up and join them for a rousing final number.
And I saw a suddenly-familiar face stepping forward out of the audience a little ways back. Hey!
I found him in the crowd afterwards, and thanked him for taking good care of me. He couldn’t quite place me… And then suddenly it hit him. “OH! YOU’RE the CROHN’S patient!!!” Yes. He looked at me, standing there, just looked in amazement: I was well, I was standing on my own two feet, hair brushed, wearing something infinitely nicer than a hospital gown and enjoying a night out at a concert, something that, the day he’d met me, there seemed no hope could ever happen again.
And there I was. With a big smile on my face, then laughing as he recited that last list of meds again from memory, and telling him thank you for looking out for me.
That young doctor went home with a spring in his step and all being right in his world. This was why he did this. This is why he put up with the hassles of it all. This was what it was all about. Seeing people becoming well again and rejoining day-to-day life, if he had any possible say in the matter. And I’d remembered him! He was absolutely radiant. I watched him heading off, beaming, and I know I was, too.
Tell’em thank you. Make a difference to them, too.
And that will make a difference to all the patients who come after you.