Dr. G

There are a small gaggle of specialists watching over me intently as I work to recover. Of all my doctors Dr G is the coolest. This is unanticipated as Dr G is a hematologist. He’s a blood doctor which initially sounded innocuous to me until I visited his offices and realized that the clientele consisted of me, and then everyone with cancer.

If you ever have a pressing need to feel better about the hand you’ve been dealt in life then go hang out in an oncology ward for a while. The hospital itself is nice. I’ve never minded hospitals in the way that many people do. That’s not to say I have great memories of them. I think about sitting beside my father’s bed as he’s going through the process of his own cancer. But rather than see the building itself as something ominous and unfortunate the thing that shone bright to me was the care and attention of the staff inside.

Dr G is care and attention wrapped up in a German package. His eyes are kind. His words are measured and considered. He has the way of ease about him that you’re either born with, or develop over decades of working with people going through the worst situation they’ll ever face. Dr G approaches his job with grace and care and even the occasional well timed joke. I’m certain he could put together a tight 5 and have the audience rolling along.

It’s my theory that this is a manner that Dr G uses as armor to shield himself from the abject horrors that he’s facing every day. He’s the one to deliver the worst news. Or the best news. Either way he’s delivering very important news every day. Each individual circumstance may be the most poignant moment of the recipient's life. He is trusted, respected, and desperately needed. It would be easy to fall into a hole of despair. Maybe he goes home and cries but I doubt it. His armor is strong.

As I sit in the waiting room looking at the pamphlets hanging on the wall I’m reminded of the information booklet Dr Hibbert hands to Homer after he’s confirmed to have eaten the wrong part of the fugu. “So You’re Going to Die”. It feels like that is the message contained within these educational materials. I’m not making fun of them because they are extremely important and necessary for the patients in this particular office. I’m not going to die with urgency. But I am aware of my tender holding on this macrocosm. And I intend to take heed of the lessons Dr G has taught me in our short time together. I’m suiting up with my own armor. And I will be kind and compassionate and supportive to all those who find themselves my company. I don’t have Dr G’s comic timing, but I do believe I can train my eyes to be kind too.