Face to Face with Death

It was a completely normal afternoon at the office– document drafting, research, instructions to staff and juniors, phone calls– all the routine stuff of a law office. Then normalcy had a trainwreck in the form of an unexpected call from my doctor’s office.

“Mr. Bowley?”

“Yes?”

“Doctor Fletcher needs to see you tomorrow morning. We’re fitting you in at ten.”

Without glancing at my calendar I confirmed I would be there, then slumped into my chair, wrung like a rag, staring blankly. Needs to see me? Tomorrow morning? They’ll fit me in?

Time stopped, the universe shrank.

In what old test results had he discovered the bad news? Had a lab called with something they had overlooked? Perhaps he had read a recent medical paper and put two and two together about some old complaints. No matter, it had to be extremely serious if he needed to see me that quickly.

I screwed up whatever courage I could find and slunk out of the office. “I’ll be a little late coming in tomorrow”, I whispered to the receptionist, barely audibly. She gave me an odd look.

I said nothing to Karen or the kids, but kept to myself all evening. I slept, at most, thirty minutes that night.

I don’t recall if I showered and shaved in the morning– after all, what would be the point? At least an hour early, I showed up at the clinic haggard and terrified.

Dr. Fletcher, as was his custom, was flitting in and out of his examination rooms, exchanging charts with his nurse, and wisecracking with his other patients. Easy enough for you, I thought, when a full and happy life lays ahead of you. But show a little respect for a dying man.

After an eternity, he turned toward me with the chart. My chart. The one with the death sentence waiting inside. I kept my composure as best I could.

“Good morning, Norm! And how are we today?”

“You tell me” I croaked, barely audible.

“Oh,” he laughed, “you’re doing just fine!”

“But OHIP is on my case about missing information in patient files, so I just need to take a couple of minutes to make sure everything is current and complete! You don’t mind, do you?”

Don’t mind? I wasn’t sure whether to hug him or slug him.

Five minutes later I was back in the parking lot, where the birds sang louder, the sky was bluer, the breeze blew sweeter.

I didn’t go straight back to the office, because this was the best day of my life. I drove out to a promontory and parked, overlooking the sparkling Ottawa River, rejoicing at every turning seagull and every billowing sail. I drank in all this beauty as if for the first time. And I thought a lot about life.

I thought about others who weren’t as lucky as I, for whom the alarm was not a false one.

But I also reflected deeply about the hurt, and the fear, and the damage done by careless words or omissions of words. It came to me how easily we impart pain and terror with no thought and no intention, simply by speaking without considering the impact. It would have taken Dr. Fletcher’s assistant an extra five seconds to explain the reason for the visit.

In our personal and professional lives we are often so preoccupied, so other-focused, that we communicate only half paying attention. At the best of times this is risky, but can be horrific for the listener. In a world where we live and die by our relationships, the cost of half paying attention to our communication can be enormous.

As it turned out, poor old Fletch wasn’t as lucky as me. How often, going into the clinic from the rear parking lot, I’d catch him sneaking a smoke like an errant schoolboy. It got him, soon enough. While I’ll always remember him fondly for his wisecracking and insights, his assistant, not so much.

But the lesson remains.