Nice Matters, No Matter How Many Nickels You Have

by
Patti Dickinson

I am a lucky woman. I am finally at a point in my life where I have discretionary time. Time when all I do is not carting kids to sixteen zip codes, signing permission slips, doing laundry, helping with science fair projects (worms in a metal trash container and seeing whether coffee grounds improve the quality of the dirt they're slithering around in), laundry, grocery shopping and showing up at one of several schools with two dozen cupcakes in hand. I have been doing PTA stuff for close to two decades and those were some rewarding years. We are down to three kids at home (except when my two college kids come home for the summer and rebound back into the Dickinson nest). My youngest, Margaret, is in middle school. And I will not earn any points being Margaret's mom in the middle school hallways. I get that.

But I wanted something more than wearing a Happy Bear costume to show Kindergarteners good/bad touching (by the way, those costumes get so hot that the last time I wore one, the fan was broken -- yup, they come with fans inside -- and I was seeing spots when I walked into the classroom). I have sold my share of carnival tickets, been a room mom for nearly two decades of kids, and orchestrated a few Talent Shows. Yup, I was ready for something different.

I moved out of my comfort zone. I have always been fascinated with all things medical. So I did the obvious thing --- I volunteered at a local hospital. Within ten minutes of the interview I was sitting at the Information Desk answering/transferring phone calls. You don't want to know how many people I disconnected the first hour. The daily total would scare us both and would have prompted an in-house investigation by the administrators, had they known. I worked with a twenty-something girl who used her computer screen (where we were supposed to be looking up room numbers) to count how many people at the hospital had died in recent months, while I had four people on hold and my hair was standing on end. All while she continued her macabre census. This clearly wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted volunteer work where I could roll up my shirtsleeves and get my hands dirty.

Next stop. A health clinic in Kansas City that offers free health care for the indigent, homeless, unemployed and uninsured. They offer an STD clinic, Pregnancy testing, an HIV clinic, psychological services, TB testing, as well as doctor's appointments. Appointments are made the day before for the next day. No "advance" appointments. Oftentimes, when the phone lines open at 8 a.m., all the appointments are filled for the next day in under ten minutes. The doctor/nurses are all volunteers. I am humbled to be rubbing elbows with these amazing professionals. They want no recognition. These guys are in a league all their own. It's not about a paycheck for them.

I made a lot of mistakes that first day. I told patients to fill out the wrong forms, and after hurriedly telling each patient that they would have to redo the forms, they just smiled, told me it was not a big deal. Wow. Nice, really nice. I have shared some laughs, heard some heart-breaking stories, touched lives and been touched. Touched by the grit, the hopefulness, the gratitude, the sturdiness, that oftentimes seems to be missing in the general population.

I love this job. I walk out of there after putting in my four hours and feel good. Walk out into the fresh air and feel like I have done something important. The lesson isn't so much that I am blessed. No, this message is much broader. The lesson is "There but for the grace of God go any of us." But so many people don't know that. They cling to their prejudices -- that these people just need to get a job, that they're all drinking out of a brown paper bag on a street corner, that they're lazy or to be feared, that they're looking for something for nothing. The patients in that waiting room are some of the nicest strangers I have had the chance to share some time with.