Lost Coins

I have a pathological fear of losing things: people I love, my hearing aides, my time, my hand function, my dog, my keys, my cellphone, trust, etc…

Today I lost my keys for the 3rd time in 6 months and I think I might be going insane.

However, this time unlike the last 2, they have been found. As a result I spent 30 mins speaking to a man named Gerry. Gerry is from Canterbury England but grew up in London. He is the security guard on the Education floor at night. We talked about his family, his friend in a wheelchair and independence with dependence and community and Scotland. He was real, kind and open while I was panicky and frustrated. He was determined to find my keys, even after I gave up he kept looking and finally found them. I am so grateful and thinking of parables of lost coins and sheep and that it is people like Gerry in my life that made me sign up for medical school.

When I was growing up all I wanted was to be heard above the noise and chaos in my life. I wanted someone to hear my story much more than I ever wanted a plate in my hip or A in a class or a ramp built in my honor. I wanted someone to listen to me when I was terrified or in pain. I wanted someone to help me find what I was missing rather it was the ability to walk or peace of mind or a true friend, etc. And likewise I wanted to hear others’ stories, I wanted to know where they came from and what they were about. Because in hearing their stories, I somehow understood mine a little better.

I don’t care if it sounds noble or trite but that is why I went to med school to listen to people’s stories and what they have lost and gained. Not for the ridiculous white coat or prestige or 5 to 6 figure slarly.

end of sappiness.