HEALing reflection on caring from "the other"

Littman Stethoscope - a tool of the trade,
but not always essential to hear what is needed.

Picture credit to: https://www.google.ca/searchq=littmann+stethoscope +classic+ii&rlz=1C1CHFX_enCA563CA563&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved= 
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So I find myself in the doctor’s office, I am waiting for her familiar, humming “Pum pum pum.” as she segues from her previous patient to me. I hear the creak of her chair as it turns, I visualize her swinging around and standing to stroll a few steps to enter through the door to the small sterile clinical room for my regular visit. She is my new doctor and I have only seen her a few times. She is well dressed, confident, professional, with a stethoscope draped around her neck. She looks at me, directly into my eyes and asks, "How are you doing?” 

I can only react with a shoulder shrug and tears spring into my eyes. She reaches forward and touches my leg with one hand and reaches with the other for a tissue and passes it to me. 

Through quiet sobs I respond, "I don't know.”  

She waits for me to say more. Seconds pass. She waits, to listen, to me.

I am silent. 

She continues, "I can only imagine. You have had a lot to deal with. I think you are not ready, no where near ready to go back to work. You need some time and it might be a longer time than you think.” 

She does not look away or busy herself with her computer; she holds her gaze on me. I look down and tears spill down into my lap. 

I say, "I don't know what to do.”

Softly she replies, "I do.” 

          So how did I know I was cared for? Physicians get paid for approximately a 10 minute visit. Time is  always short in health care. Patience is often short in health care. So in my weakest emotional state, my doctor ( the other ) took the time to wait for me to respond, was comfortable in the silence and my nonverbal response. She took the time to care enough to touch me and provide a small gesture of understanding with a tissue. She listened with her other senses, and heard my silent loss. She did not avert her gaze but held the moment and looked into the desperate eyes of a mother's grief. She "heard" through my inability, and ascertained what needs I had and was willing to support me through the darkest of despair. I knew she would help me. I knew she cared.

          Purely by another person taking notice, of my being recognized, and having my feelings and inability acknowledged gave me hope for help and possibility. Potential movement forward; one tiny step towards something beyond complete stasis and being locked, frozen in a dysfunctional existence, now with a promising beginning of at least a partial recovery and maybe some healing of the deepest wound one can sustain.