musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

How far that little candle throws its beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.


It’s so easy to misjudge people isn’t it? I’m not sure what criteria can withstand the vagaries and vicissitudes of Time, though; Life is like that: a good novel changing from one page to the next makes for an interesting and compelling read.

There was an elderly lady I often saw in the mall’s Food Court where we guys have our Wednesday morning coffee club. Her clothes were predictable: she wore a full length blue skirt, a reasonably ironed white blouse and, depending on the weather, a long red overcoat.. She usually sat at a nearby table although she was apparently uncomfortable with our noisy chatter, and bouts of raucous laughter. Nobody ever sat with her; she never seemed to smile, and would sometimes even shake her fist at anybody who dared to bump into her table. One day, I even overheard her arguing with the cashier for making a mistake with the amount of cream she had added to her coffee. But it wasn’t really something for which to blame the busy, and probably minimum-waged young lady behind the counter who apologized with a worn smile and offered her another coffee. She was probably a university student trying to earn a bit of extra money; she was just tired…

I had first noticed the elderly lady stealing angry glances at us after a particularly loud outburst of guffaws at an off-colour joke several months ago. She was shaking her head and furrowing her brow so intensely it looked painful. I pointed her out to my friend Arjan who was sitting next to me. “That elderly lady over there is not looking very happy today is she?”

He was still grinning in the afterglow of one of his friend’s jokes. Arry was like that, though: his expression ebbed and flowed like waves on a beach as he waited for rejoinders from the rest of the group. I’m not sure he understood the jokes; he was more comfortable reading their faces, and body language, before reacting to what he saw. But he shrugged at my question. “She is just lonely, I think. She is always alone.”

After a rather quiet discussion a week or so ago, I again pointed her out to Arjan. “She’s not looking as angry today, Ar. Do you think it’s maybe because we’re not arguing or telling loud jokes…?”

Arjan studied her for a moment and shook his head. “She is still not happy.”

I glanced at her again. “Do you think she comes here because we seem so comfortable with each other?” I thought about what I’d just said. “I mean is our laughter and constant talking, our guy-punching each other on the shoulder the closest thing in her life to friends?”

He shook his head slowly and brought his eyes back to our table. “I hope she has more than us, G… She needs more than us for those days when we’re not here, don’t you think?” He sighed and stared at his empty coffee cup. “Life should be more than a slowly emptying cup of coffee…”

But the elderly lady was the furthest thing from my mind a few days later when I boarded a still uncrowded bus. I actually found an empty seat and sat back in unexpected pleasure with the room beside me. The bus was obviously ahead of schedule and the driver was looking at his phone as a few passengers got on. One of them was our Wednesday lady, as I had christened her, and she chose an empty seat across the aisle from me; I don’t think she recognized me from the food court, so I thought I’d see how she behaved in a different environment. True to form, she was carrying a cup of steaming coffee and kept fiddling with the plastic cover to make sure it was well attached. Then she searched in a large old leather purse I didn’t recognize from her Wednesday table. She pulled out what looked to be a home-made sandwich wrapped in wax paper, and then thinking better of it, put it back in her purse and sat back to stare out of the window.

I did the same with my window and forgot about her. She didn’t seem angry, or irritable; there was nothing to see, so I watched a tall, gaunt woman in wrinkled oversized clothes struggling across the street carrying a large clear zip-up plastic bag. She seemed to be having trouble carrying it, not because of its weight, but more because it was awkward and didn’t have any handles for her to grasp. And she looked exhausted as she made her way towards our bus. I didn’t see her pay a fare when she entered, but perhaps  I was so consumed with her bag, I wasn’t watching closely enough. I stared again out the window at the people walking by.

I could hear the bag rustling as she made her way along the aisle and found an empty seat across the aisle from me, and just in front of Wednesday lady. She had even more trouble trying to fit the bag in the space in front of her seat; when she finally managed to squeeze it in, there was no room left for her legs, so she sat sideways, folded her knees and brought her feet yogi-style onto the seat beside her.

It seemed unusual to see someone sit like that on a bus but I tried to look away in case my curiosity embarrassed her. Fortunately, the bus pulled away from the stop at that point, so the seat beside her seat was not required for another passenger.

I concentrated on the traffic outside, but when I looked again, Wednesday lady was looking at the woman with a concerned look on her face. She said something to the unfortunate soul, who tilted her head, smiled in response and nodded. So the elderly lady reached into her voluminous purse and handed her the sandwich.

As the lady proceeded to gobble it up, Wednesday lady said something to her again, and when she received a grateful smile in response, handed her the still warm coffee.

The thin lady proceeded to drink most of it, and I turned away so neither of them would think I was staring at them. When I looked again, the bag lady (I hate to call her that, but I’ve run out of more respectful descriptives) was curled up in her seat, eyes closed, and her head was resting on her chest; the paper cup was tilted at a rather precarious angle on her abdomen.

Although it was not Wednesday, the bus was nearing my intended stop, and I wondered if the elderly lady would get off there too. But, she leaned over the younger woman and carefully retrieved the cup and, without disturbing her, wiped what was left of the sandwich off her face with a piece of tissue and smiled at the sleeping lady.

At our next coffee Wednesday, the elderly woman was at a nearby table as usual, but as I glanced at her from our boisterous group, she smiled at me.

Arjan noticed and elbowed me. “Did you see that, G? She smiled!”

I sighed and shrugged. “I think we’ve been judging her book by its cover, Ar…”

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gozzter

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