Ten a.m. Thursday, Sept. 25. Third Floor F Elevator. No food after midnight. That’s the bottom line for the two of us.
So, you spend an entire day meeting with doctors, nurses, physician’s assistants, clinicians, medical students … watching other patients, listening to their stories. Two five-year old girls, cute as buttons. Strangers playing with each other. One of Russian-Libyan extraction. The other all Texan. One with leukemia, the other with a mysterious malignancy in her foot. Parents bravely discussing ways to tell children about diseases the parents fear and the children accept.
Old men, their wives and children fighting to keep some measure of normalcy in their lives. A large, older woman walking with a cane, clearly in pain, but smiling as broad as the south plains and spreading sunshine everywhere around her, a perfect picture of courage and love of mankind. Persons bald from radiation, some wearing masks to protect themselves from germs.
It is a fascinating cross section of humanity.
Ninth floor, sixth floor, second floor. Ophthalmology, anesthesiology, lab work. Physicians and staff? Certainly the lead players are at the top of their games. Best in the field. Intense men and women. Scholars and practitioners at the same time. Supporting cast efficient, focused and patient-directed.
Out at the airport, “are you involved with MD Anderson?” the man checking in our rental car asked. He was reading the label on my baseball cap. Then he proceeded to extol the center, and in the course of our conversation he revealed his wife worked there.
So, we move toward our operation, confident that we are in good medical hands, blessed by the prayers and caring attention of hosts of friends, angels, family and others.
And last and first the love of God.