doctor handsome

We got a letter in the mail the other day from a family that benefited from the care they received at the hospital Bub was treated at. At the end of the letter, it said 'someone' would be contacting us soon to see if we wanted to give to the hospital.

Soon was today.

I talked to the lady and told her we had given to the hospital in the past. And that we also had received excellent care and were thrilled to be able to give back. But we had already given back.

Now we're considering sponsoring a Compassion child.

I felt like I had to defend the fact that I was not, at this time, interested in giving. She was sort of aggressive. She asked if I wasn't going to give this year, was I going to give next year. I got sort of tired of the conversation, frankly.

But it did take me back to realize we did receive excellent care. At every level. But one thing that happened went over and beyond. I called clinic one day and told the nurses that Bub had been waking up at night fussing about his knee. They immediately went into action and I got a call back from one of the doctors. We call him Doctor Handsome. Not because of how he looks, but because every time he came into our room, he referred to Bub as 'Handsome'.. hey, Handsome, gimme five.. that kinda deal. And Bub H-A-T-E-D it. He did not like being fussed with that way. I don't blame him. I never did either.

But anyway.. back to Doctor Handsome... when he called me back, he told me Bub needed a strong narcotic liquid and that is a controlled substance and he couldn't call it in. And I couldn't run into Kroger and grab it either. We needed to go to a specialized pharmacy. And it was getting late. Believe it or not.. Dr Handsome offered to drop the RX by my house on his way home. We figured out he lives in a neighboring suburb down the street from us. So that's what he did. He was at my door probably less than an hour later with scrip in hand. I was shocked he would do it and incredibly grateful. It was funny for Bub to see 'him' at our front door. It's a cute memory for me, believe it or not.

The kids had fun running around in the pharmacy playing together. You wouldn't know he was terminally ill by watching them cut up. They were disruptive, but I didn't give a rip. He was gone six days later.

I didn't have time to go into it with the lady on the phone. But the people that wrote the letter aren't the only ones with a story to tell. If she'd of stopped pushing me long enough, she could'a heard that.