Comfort in Tiny Communities

This year when I went for my mammogram, I barely took a seat before I was ushered into the exam room. I changed, got squished and was on my way. For years I went to Swedish American, now UW. I wrapped the gown around my middle, held it close and sat down with other women. Some of us read a book. Others watched the TV. Sometimes we spoke.

Those days we waited for our results with some dread. We shared our stories and offered each other verbal hugs. Sometimes we offered sympathetic silence. We changed and left quickly. Most of us relieved.

I’m reminded of the story of “The Handless Maiden” as told by Martin Shaw in his book Smokehole. Her father struck one of those deals that offers riches in exchange for what turned out to be his daughter. To keep the deal, he lops off her two hands. She fades into the forest, marries the king, gives birth to his baby. She is exiled again but finds the Wood Sisters.

“From the moment she sat with them and powerfully recounted her story, it was clear she had found a new home in the exact place that she was most terrified to go. A great wonder happened. A joy beyond reckoning. She started to grow her hands back”.

Women gathered, even if for a few minutes, waiting for a test, are a community, that can encourage, that can comfort. This year I missed that.

I’m Katie Andraski and that’s my perspective.

If you’d like to hear this on WNIJ, click here.

My producer said she preferred getting through her test quickly, but for me going to that breast center, seeing the same receptionist year after year, putting my clothes in the same lockers, sitting, waiting, marked off each year for nearly two decades. It was a routine that marked the year, and mostly a relief until they spotted some troublesome spots, that later turned out to be pre breast cancer. I was relieved they found it so early and grateful for the yearly mammogram.

The biopsy wasn’t as dreadful as I imagined. I was numbed up and the doctor was underneath, so I didn’t see the needles aimed at me. He talked to me and I looked at a large forest scene, the kind you can lose yourself in. My lumpectomy was scheduled quickly. The cancer doc worked to convince me to take tamoxifen. At the end of five years, he said “I’m pleased that cancer had not come back. It’s good for my practice.” Those visits every six months also marked time with blood work that affirmed my health.

Waiting rooms offer opportunities to observe people even if you don’t exchange pleasantries. They give you the opportunity to gather yourself before your meeting. In the old days I took the chance to read a book. I remember waiting at Newsweek to see Ken Woodward and I pulled out Teaching a Stone to Talk from Annie Dillard where the shadow from the eclipse moves across the ground. What an image before I went in to pitch some book or other and share my alarm about activist Christians.

Occasionally I’ve taken my journal, using the neutral space, to write out my thoughts without the distraction of my own desk, the over familiarity of writing at home can make it hard to let my thoughts speak. But it’s awkward packing up your notebook and pen, when the nurse calls you into the doctor’s office. Phones are so easy because they are full of interesting stories, some of which might not be good for you, since social media can be an outrage machine lurking in the background. They are easy to tuck back in a pocket or purse and they suck you in. We need to be in each other’s presence. Even when we are quiet, our bodies speak to one another. Those below words presences can also put us back together.

The last few weeks we waited for storms, with the likes of Ryan Hall Y’all showing a circle with hash tags for our region of the country. A thin whine of anticipation sets up, that’s a mix of fear and excitement. When the drought had settled we prayed for rain. (Now we’re praying for a break so we can harvest our hay.) But when the storm blew through, here with no damage, the relief was palpable. And the rainbow a joy bringer, despite the wet feet walking out in the grass.

As I wrote this the end of Psalm 27 nudged at me. “Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord.”² Waiting at a doctor’s office or for a journalist or a job interview reminds me how we are waiting for Christ’s return, whether that means he shows up in the clouds to finally make things right, or he shows up in the Eucharist, or how he shows up in one of those people sitting across the room, waiting like you are for the next thing. This waiting business can bring hope like the Psalmist said just before he urges us to wait. “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!”³

A grocery store can also become a community of people shopping at the same time. You recognize other shoppers as you walk up one aisle and down the other. Occasionally I’ve struck up a conversation with another shopper and learned about authentic olive oil, or how they raise cattle. Some days the whole store is filled with light heartedness and people smile back. Other days people look straight ahead or look very tired, their lips drawn down. I’ve started asking God to bless people I walk by or even the annoying shopper who is blocking the cheese I want to pull out of the case. And sometimes I’ve spoken with a check out person and found interesting things like frames you can change up for your glasses to go with your outfit or mood, or how he was leaving the next day to study an endangered salamander in New Mexico. The Magic of Everyday Encounters tells that story if you’d like to look.

I even look for conversation when I pay my insurance bill. I have swapped stories with the receptionist in the few minutes she takes my money. She listened well on a particularly bad day An elderly gentleman walked in with check after me. These little interactions can break loneliness and in some ways, as small as they are have given my hands back, my hands that spin out words on my laptop or direct my dogs to follow me.

What are you experiences with finding community, even if brief, in unexpected places?

References

1 Martin Shaw. Smoke Hole. pp. 109 - 110

2. Psalm 27:13, ESV

3. Psalm 27: 14, ESV