Sitting in the dermatologist’s waiting room for my annual skin cancer screening, it doesn’t take long to realize it’s going to be a while. The typically sparse room is overflowing. And the tension is thick. A woman visibly and audibly upset about the wait walks up to the check-in desk.
I can feel myself getting worked up. Usually, I come to doctor’s appointments prepared for a wait—a book, a snack, my earphones. But I didn’t this time because there hadn’t been a problem before.
The woman, trying her best to stay calm and kind even though she’s understandably annoyed, asks how much longer she’ll have to wait. The receptionist behind the desk immediately apologizes. She explains the doctor is running behind because she’s performing a surgery, and they aren’t sure how much longer it will take. They can only offer what number in line she is.
Immediately, any frustration building within me disappears. It wasn’t because I had an answer or my expectations had been adjusted. It was because my perspective had changed.
You see, I have a friend who was diagnosed with melanoma just three days ago. And she’s waiting to make a surgical appointment as soon as possible.
My heart hoped for just a moment that it was her. I was happy to wait. In my head, I was anticipating her slowly making her way out after I had waited 30 minutes beyond my appointment time. And I’d scream her name, run over to her, and throw my hands around her neck in celebration. She’d tell me they got it all, and it didn’t spread to her lymph nodes.
And just like that, my minor inconvenience of waiting longer than I anticipated would be worth it.
When person after person came back out from the examination area and it wasn’t my friend, I had to face the reality that my wait wasn’t for her. It must have been for someone else’s friend.
But what if we all treated small hiccups in our busy days like that?
That person holding up the line is running on a few hours of sleep because her mom was just diagnosed with dementia. She couldn’t sleep, so she spent the entire night researching what to do next. If you knew her or her mom, you’d cut her a break for adding 10 minutes to your wait.
That person who cut you off on the highway just found out her father-in-law passed away and was rushing home to be with her husband. If you knew her husband, her father-in-law, or her, you’d happily slow down five miles an hour to make space for her to get over into your lane.
That person in the grocery store whose two little boys are running amok with the tiny shopping carts just found out her husband of 10 years cheated on her, and it wasn’t the first time. If you knew her or her sweet sons, you’d stop and help them pick up the display they knocked over and suggest a few things that can be tossed together for a quick, healthy-ish, hassle-free dinner.
My friend still doesn’t have an appointment, but she has enough people supporting her that she’ll be okay, no matter what happens. Not everyone is that lucky.
What if we treated the people we come across, in person and online, this way? Even if the friendship is only in our minds, those small acts of understanding and compassion would mean the world to that person. I bet it might even cause a ripple effect of kindness.
And all it cost you was a minor inconvenience.
by Heather LeRoss 
by Debbie Wilkins Baisden 
by Lisa Bonnema 
