Haven't felt like blogging much these days; either there is no time alone (not with heaps of snow and the accompanying heaps of snow days), or the alone time is spent elsewhere, not in self-reflection. I will admit that there has been a lot going on that doesn't belong in a blog, at least not in any blog I'd write, but that deserves contemplation, so I have been spending my emotional energy elsewhere.
But I just read a blog that was linked to by a friend from high school, and I was inspired. The blog happened to be a saga about the writer's dental issues. I found it well-written and entertaining, but the part that hit me was when the writer commented that a complete stranger "folded up his phone and held the door open for me." That act of kindness, probably very small to the person who offered it, but obviously a world-changer (however momentary) for the writer of the blog, really stuck with me.
A digital sign near where I work flashed its advertising one morning, along with the message "KINDNESS IS FREE." I thought about that. In a sense, that's true, because being kind - smiling at someone, holding open a door for the lady with the double stroller, waving the person through at the stop sign, allowing someone to merge - those things don't cost anything, at least monetarily. But kindness does have a price. It may cost me my "rights" as I wave another driver through when I had the right of way. It may cost me biting my tongue when it would be callous (or at worst, cruel) to point out something that doesn't really matter in the long run. It may cost me time to drop of the lunch that my daughter forgot to take to school.
Yet the cost for me, whether in swallowing my pride, or in "lost time," or in inconvenience, may be nothing in comparison to what it means to the person to whom I'm being kind. I may never know the impact I have by delivering an encouraging word, an empowering statement, buying lunch, going out of my way to help someone, but it's still very much worth doing. I know that I remember certain acts of kindness in my life. They stand out with searing brilliance, and when I think of them, I recapture the original feeling I had of overwhelming gratitude.
My first job in high school was cashiering at the CVS in the mall. I was seventeen. This was long before price scanners, credit card readers, and debit cards. People mostly paid cash. Checks and credit cards had to be looked up in a little flimsy paper book to verify they were not poor credit risks. Everything was rung up by hand, and although the register calculated the change for me, I handled all the money myself - no automatic change return. All this sounds silly to delineate for people who grew up with them - like describing a record player or a manual typewriter - but for those who grew up carrying thousands of mp3s and movies around on their phones which are more powerful than the first full-scale computers, it bears repeating.
I was a good cashier. A great one, in fact, although as an introvert I much preferred to be in the back "facing" the store (neatening the shelves) and doing inventory to being up front at the registers. The CVS was the only place in the mall to buy snacks, newspapers, and candy (for smuggling into the movies). I had 11 even drawers in a row one month, and one drawer that was 50 cents over. That meant that the totals of what was sold, money taken in and change given, were perfect for those 11 shifts. Those of you who have ever worked such a job know that there are fluxes in how busy it is, and sometimes we had lines reaching almost all the way to the back of the store. (Our cash registers were on either side of the entrance, perpendicular to the front doors.)
When it was busy like that, I strove to keep people happy, and sometimes I got flustered with the overwhelming set of tasks it took to get everyone out the door in a timely fashion. Sometimes something would be on sale that hadn't been priced, and the customer would correct me, or complain, and I would fix it the best I could. I don't remember particularly what happened this time, but one day when there was an enormous line, I rang up something incorrectly, or there was an unmarked sale price. It must have been something like that - as I said, I don't remember. But I do remember a customer being particularly irate. I don't remember what he said, or why he was displeased, but he said something that left me humiliated and in tears as he stalked away with his purchase. I was so overwhelmed with shame that I wanted the floor to swallow me. I turned nervously to the next customer, who put his purchases on the counter, looked at me, and said, "Don't mind him. It's too bad his underwear is on too tight." I remember giving a rather hysterical laugh, and finished ringing him up.
I don't remember saying thank you. I don't remember anything else about that day. But I remember the overwhelming sense of gratitude I felt for his sympathy and kindness. It made me able to face the rest of the line, and the rest of the shift.
When I was pregnant with my first child, it was discovered at about 20 weeks that I was dilating early, and the OB/GYN needed to perform a cerclage in hopes that I wouldn't lose the pregnancy. I was a resident physician myself at the time, and of "advanced maternal age" as well. I had the procedure done at the hospital where I worked, so I knew or recognized many of the employees in the pre-op from my surgical rotations. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink for 8 hours prior to the surgery (fairly standard) which of course made me dehydrated and difficult to get an intravenous line in. I've been told by various lab persons that I'm a "hard stick" anyway, so that didn't help. The certified nurse anesthetist (CRNA) poked me 5 or 6 different times (and those of you who know me know that I HATE needles) and finally got an IV started in the back of my hand. If you've never had an IV in your hand, let me tell you, it is singularly unpleasant, at the very least. But I didn't wish to complain, for fear of another stick.
I don't know if the CRNA was at the end of her shift, or if she had a poor bedside manner, or if she was just a grouchy person, but as she eyed my IV, she wasn't happy with it, and was grumbling to herself and to me, giving off waves of irritation. Here I was, 20 weeks pregnant, a patient in my own hospital, fearful that I was going to lose my child, dehydrated, thirsty as heck, and realllllly not wanting to be poked yet again, yet feeling guilty that my veins were giving her such a hard time. Then, around the curtain came my favorite anesthesiologist, Dr. Chung. We had had several nice chats in the surgeon's lounge when I was on my surgery rotation, and I just liked him. When the CRNA complained loudly that my IV was not flowing despite all her attempts, he looked at it closely and said, "No, it's working just fine. See? If I hold it like this, there's no problem." She did the verbal equivalent of throwing up her hands, and retreated. He smiled at me, and said again, still holding the IV, "No problem."
I was awake for the surgery, for which I had a spinal anesthesia. It took about 30 minutes from start to finish. The whole time, Dr. Chung held my hand, putting my IV in a position where it flowed. I was in the hospital for a few more days, and had to deal with other things (magnesium sulfate, being put on the bedpan every hour by a different nurse - gee, why not have the whole shift come one at a time and look at my butt? - and my IV finally going subcutaneous and having MgSO4 infiltrate my tissues, ouch), but the gentle kindness of Dr. Chung, and the image of him protecting me from another poke and the irritation of the CRNA, and making it not a big deal to hold my IV open... I will never forget it.
So perhaps kindness isn't "free," in the truest sense of the word. No matter; I know it is worth "spending" on.
Be kind; it won't kill you, and it may save someone someday.
Peace
wb
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