This morning after we walked Jay to school, the girls and I decided to extend the walk a bit before going home. The sun was actually shining--how could I resist? So we turned the corner from Harriet Thompson Elementary and walked past the Welch's factory and El Mercado. When we passed the Grandview Medical Center, I had an odd wave of nostalgia that took me completely off guard. Why did I feel a sort of fondness for that plain, skinny brown building? After thinking it over I concluded that it wasn't the building itself or even any fond memories from going inside the building. (it's a doctor's office, for goodness sake-we don’t go there for fun!) Our family doctor, Dr. Weaver, recently switched offices so we won't be going to the little Grandview Medical Center anymore. We'll go to his new office in Prosser instead. I think the knowledge that we won't have any reason to go back to the office where we had all of our appointments for the past 3 years is what brought on the nostalgic feeling. I went through a lot in that building! This line of thought got me a-pondering my most recent medical adventure: being pregnant with Amber.
As I've been recovering from that pregnancy, I've been thinking about what an amazing experience it was, in spite of the physical agony. We are here on earth to learn things we can't learn anywhere else. There is POWER in personal experience. I already wrote what I learned from my Amber-pregnancy about real life service. In one [of the many] priesthood blessings I received when I was super sick and pregnant, I was told that I was given this trial so that I could learn empathy that I couldn't learn any other way. Experience is the best teacher. There are SO MANY lessons, big and small, that I have already learned from my prego-trial, and I'm realizing more and more that I'll probably be learning new things from it for a long time. We go back to the scriptures over and over to learn new things from the same old stories, so it makes sense to learn new things from my own "same old story" too.
That was a long preamble for what I started out to say! I wanted to share something that I recently realized/learned from my pregordeal. It involves Dr. Weaver. It is humbling to know that I am alive because of him! Now, there's no guarantee that I would have actually died without all those bags of fluids and medicines for all those weeks, but I think it was very possible. Charlotte Bronte died from morning sickness! That is a huge gift to give a near-stranger: LIFE. Doctors do it all the time. I feel such a deep respect toward my doctor for all he did to help me through such an enormous physical trial. He probably doesn't remember everything he did to help me, but I do! When I was too sick to keep my medicine down, I would call or text him (at all hours!) and he told me what to do. When I was in the hospital for that week, he checked on me every day and told me stories about his latest run or road race so I could live vicariously though his running. He never brushed my constant nausea aside or told me I had to do ___or else. He only helped me. And then he delivered my sweet baby girl and had the good grace to say she was cute, even in her slimy, fresh-from-the-womb state.
I know it's a doctor's job to take care of his patients, and doctors see hundreds of patients each week. I'm sure all of those faces run together and get mixed up in a doctor's brain. But to each person that receives quality care from that one good doctor, that doctor means something more, you know? Dr. Weaver did so many things for me that I could not do for myself, and I am beyond grateful for his help. That thought made me zoom out and realize something bigger: when we do temple work for the dead, the names all sort of run together and we never really know any of the people we help. But they know us and are thankful for us! I have done temple work for dozens of people. I don't remember their names, but they know mine! I mean something to them because I did something for them that they could not do for themselves. When we help someone, it means something and we are connected in a small way because of it.
Those were my deep thoughts while I was pushing an 80-pound double jogging stroller past a skinny brown building.
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