On a recent regular Saturday trip to the infusion center for weekly maintenance (kind of like an oil change for human beings - I'm rocking the synthetic grade to be sure), I saw Dr. S dashing around the 9th floor lobby (where the clinic is located) waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive. He said a quick hello (always making time for a human connection) and explained that he had to run down to the main lobby to let someone in (new Covid-19 regulations have limited entrances in an effort to ensure temperature monitoring, mask-wearing compliance and safety checks). Being the observant person that I am, I had noticed someone waiting outside that locked lobby door as I passed by three floors above on the crossover walkway just moments earlier - it was hard to miss their peach polo.
Only minutes after that, I saw Mr. Peachshirt being escorted by Dr. S into the clinic waiting room: getting checked in, supplying his insurance info, going through the parking validation ritual (yes, it's free on Saturdays), and basically getting oriented to the drill. As he sat waiting to be called in to the clinic (half of it is doctor offices and exam rooms, the other half is the Infusion Center), Mr. Peachshirt bore the signs of any new patient (I have worn myself, and seen them often). It's a look of guarded concern, a veneer of optimism, the puzzlement of uncertainty, a dash of resignation - all upon the foundation of understandable fear. A mixture of emotions that almost merges into a blankness in anticipation of the unknown that lies behind that door to the clinic . . . the metaphorical entrance to the journey of a lifetime.
I felt every muscle in my body quivering as I struggled to hold myself back from going over and giving Mr. Peachshirt a big social-distance shattering hug; reassuring him that it was going to be alright - he was in the care of the best of the best. I knew the compassionate gaze that awaited him from the eyes of Dr. S - during their first encounter (and all others yet to come). I knew the calm in Dr. S's voice that would explain the treatment and answer every question that Mr Peachshirt would ask - careful to use language tailored exactly for the level of understanding of the patient (never patronizing). I knew the incomparable connection that Dr. S would make with him - finding areas of common interest to foster distracting (though meaningful, almost thoughtful) chatter and subtly lift the cloud of fear and concern that hung over Mr. Peachshirt. I know it so well because I lived it from Day 1 with Dr. S, and still do - almost three years later. He has met and knows the "story" of all four girls and their respective mates. And asks about all of them every time - if not sending his sincere regards on each occasion. But he has an extra special place in his enormous heart for the one that he affectionately (and respectfully) refers to as "Dr. Rosen" (Angie).
How can it be that this person is so knowledgeable, so expert, so gifted in his diagnostic and prognostic skills, and can still be so grounded in humility that under any other circumstance he would come off as just the most regular guy - ever. And this persona, this attitude, this "vibe" is emulated by each person under his leadership in every role and responsibility within the clinic. I know, I've met and been treated with the same unmatched Dr. S humanity by every one of them. I don’t know how my path managed to intersect with Dr. S on this big and busy crazy rock hurtling through space and the cosmos - but I’m sure glad it did !
Cancer Survivors Day - June 7
