A Dignified Life

I waited in the doctor’s office for quite a while.
I have had a cold and cough since last week that needed attention.
It seemed as if everyone in the waiting room had the same thing.
At least for me, it ended up being allergies.

The pollen count is extremely high, I was told.
How can simple tree pollen and grass pollen and all sorts of pollen be so problematic?
How can the trees budding and the grass growing cause me to lose my voice?
I left the office with more knowledge than when I entered.

I forgot to bring a book with me, so I people watched as I waited.
I was touched by a father and son who sat way back in the corner.
I heard the deep voice reading a book I had read many time before.
That Sam I am, That Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham.

I listened as I heard the dad read a page and then the boy read a page.
It is usually the mom who brings the children to the doctor’s office.
How wonderful to see a dad handle his son so expertly.
The little boy was reading beautifully, thanks to his dad who was making it fun.

The nurse called a name and the little boy said, Dad, that’s us!
I smiled as this tall man, still in his work clothes, held his son’s hand.
They walked back to the office together, the father still holding the Dr. Seuss book.
The little boy looked so proud, as he told the nurse, This is my dad.

I heard bits and pieces of referral information and insurance and scheduling issues.
I watched a machine in operation; albeit not a very fine-tuned machine.
I am no expert, but something must be done.
I almost longed for the days of paying the country doctor with chickens and eggs.

I heard the thud against the door.
As the door flew open, I saw the walker first.
An elderly man, now stooped with years, came through the door.
He was holding on to the walker for support.

He was followed by a younger version of himself.
Another father-son pair.
This time, the son was caring for the father.
Very different from the pair that just walked back to the examining room.

The young man got his father situated in a chair.
I heard the father sigh loudly, as if it took all the energy he could muster to sit down.
The son stood in line right in front of my chair.
He had a plastic bag in his hand.

I looked at the bag and saw that it was filled with medicine bottles.
Bring all current medications with you to your appointment, the prompt always says.
There were six bottles in the plastic bag.
I looked over at the man sitting behind his walker.

He looked tired and worn, tethered to the thing that was to give him mobility.
I wondered about who he was before the six bottles of medicine and the walker.
I am sure that after a while, sickness and age began to take its toll.
It was the dullness of his eyes that struck me.

He was well cared for.
His son was loving and attentive.
I wondered if his son remembers his father the way he was, or just the way he is now.
It is hard to look beyond the walker and the medicine bottles, but we must.

Behind each face is a story.
Often, with age, our roles are reversed.
The father and son reading the book together will one day be the father and son before me.
The father who cared for his son will soon be taken care of by his son.

That is what one hopes.
We have an aging population.
A population of people that must remain vital and active as their health permits.
A population that must be cared for with dignity and respect.

We must become advocates for aging parents and loved ones.
The system will not advocate for them.
I shudder to think about any elderly person trying to maneuver the system alone.
It seems to be a quagmire of bureaucracy, and not a very efficient one at that.

We dismiss pro-life advocates as radical.
We fail to see that how we treat the unborn is how we treat the aged.
Being pro-life means seeing the dignity of every person from the womb to the grave.
One slip, one chink in the armor, and you begin to make excuses.

You begin to categorize.
Viable or non-viable.
Person or non-person.
Burden to society or an asset to society.

You begin to pick and choose.
You begin to decide on the quality of life.
You begin to make decisions based on expediency.
You begin to play God.

Know that the Lord is God. It is He who made us, and we are His; we are His people, the sheep of his pasture. (Psalm 100:3)

Protection must be given from the womb to the grave.
A ho-hum attitude towards life affects more than then unborn.
A ho-hum attitude will creep into our treatment of the disabled and the elderly as well.
Life is precious, no matter the stage or the location.

It is this indifference to life that we see played out on the world’s stage.
We would arrest anyone who took the life of another on this side of the womb.
Yet, we yawn when we hear of the number of abortions that steadily grows each day.
We are being desensitized right before our very eyes.

I witnessed such love and tenderness between father and sons.
One pair at the beginning of their journey.
One pair near the end of theirs.
Each exuding the love, respect, and dignity one would expect.

It is right to fight for life.
We are fighting for more than we realize.
We are fighting for the very Breath of God in a person.
Life, no matter the stage or the location, is precious.