Fresh off a CT scan at the hospital in Starkville on Wednesday, the radiology technician escorted me back to the x-ray waiting area.
She left the unhooked IV needle stuck in my arm for efficiency. If the scan revealed appendicitis, as was predicted, removal surgery would commence that afternoon and there was no reason for a nurse to dig into the vein a second time in that case.
Trying to text my wife about the possibility of immediate surgery — something neither of us had banked on — my phone died.
So there I was, completely cut off from people who really needed to know my status while I waited to see what that status even was. Then in walked Alice.
An elderly lady, she glanced over at me as she scooted by on her tennis-ball anchored walker to a seat across from me. She started talking, at first seemingly generally to anyone in earshot, about the tests she was there to endure. Apparently, it was the latest in a string of tests, biopsies and other procedures to which she had recently been subjected.
Then she turned and looked directly at me.
“And I’m tired,” she said, tagging that onto her medical dilemma. “You know, I’m 83 years old.”
Over the next five minutes or so, I learned a good bit about Alice, most of which she volunteered but some because I asked. She asked me plenty, as well.
A Webster County resident, Alice is an Arkansas native with a journalism background – both things we have in common. In fact, we were both amazed we knew where each other’s hometowns were (hers is much smaller than mine), and we also went to the same college — albeit at very different times.
Alice voted for Trump and wasn’t “afraid to say it.” She’s had at least two husbands, divorced by one and widowed by another, and the same heart issue that felled her late husband claimed one of her sons a few years back.
She has other children, and grandchildren, some of whom she doesn’t see as much as she’d like.
“I’ve been really blessed over my 83 years, and I’m happy I got to do it. I’ve had a good run,” she interjected into her biography. “I wish people would better appreciate what they have in the time they have it.”
It occurred to me then she might be packing her bags for home, as it were. Still, her words were sincere, not full of concession or bittersweet resignation. It was very clear she had enjoyed her time — full of trial as it was — and she intended to enjoy every minute she had left. And she would get to know anyone who would let her in the meantime.
In fact, when they called her name, she left the waiting area with the same tech who had scanned my abdomen, wishing me luck on the way out. As she entered the hallway, she was already telling the tech how she went by Elizabeth, “although Alice is the name on my Social Security card,” along with the history behind that.
Inconvenient as it was, I’m glad my phone died when it did. If I had been glaring at my Facebook feed when Alice came in, she might not have talked to me, and that would’ve been a shame. Or, she might have told me to get my nose out of my phone and socialize, and that would’ve been OK, too.
In any case, she wanted to know someone would listen, and I was as happy to hear her story as she was to tell it. I certainly hope those few minutes improved her day half as much as they improved mine.
Of course, I received good news shortly thereafter – a pulled abdominal muscle, rather than need for surgery. I hope Alice got good news, too.
Zack Plair is the managing editor for The Dispatch.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 36 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.