The door opened and the weary-looking woman made her way into the periodontists’ waiting room. She appeared to be in her 40s or 50s and not at all a picture of good health. Wearing a walking cast on one leg, her steps were short and choppy. The bra strap on her left arm lay about halfway to her elbow and appeared as nonfunctional as the dangling arm itself.  

She stepped up to the receptionist’s window and gave her last name. The receptionist didn’t seem to recognize it and asked her to spell it. 

Still nothing registered.

“What’s your first name?”

She gave it, and the receptionist followed up with more questions.

“Are you sure you have an appointment with us? Here? Today? Are you sure it wasn’t for another day?”

It was eventually determined that the office had canceled the woman’s appointment. They said they’d done it because she’d failed to confirm it via text message. Shortly after the explanation, the staff turned their attention to other matters, offering her no recourse. Appearing defeated, the woman turned and walked, with difficulty, out of the office.

No way to help?

Moments later she returned and again approached the receptionist’s desk. She explained that she’d received an appointment card at her previous visit and that she’d entered the information on her calendar at home. She hadn’t seen the importance of confirming since she was well aware of the date. And besides, texting was difficult for her. She went on to state that she’d driven almost an hour in the near 100-degree heat to come to the office. She mentioned the soaring gas prices that made the bad situation even worse.

Was there any way they could possibly work her in today?

The answer to her plea was an immediate “no.”

The faces behind the glass just smiled and said they were sorry. And so the struggling woman turned and left for the second time, this time vowing never to return.

I’d been sitting in that waiting room taking in the scene while waiting for another patient. My heart went out to that woman. Life appeared hard for her. Besides the most noticeable struggles she was dealing with, I felt certain there were plenty more less obvious challenges.

Maybe there was truly no way the office could have accommodated her. Maybe the periodontists were truly overbooked and unable to see her. Maybe.  

A different outcome

But just maybe this story could have played out differently. Maybe someone could have at least checked with the doctors. Maybe someone could have taken a little time and shown this woman some heartfelt compassion. At the very least, maybe they could have offered her a bottle of water from the waiting room’s beverage cooler.

Maybe, but they didn’t. Instead, after she left, the group of office people huddled together to rehash the incident. They spent some minutes discussing the woman’s situation. They did it with no regard for others in the waiting room who could hear their conversations. They seemed to agree that the blame for it all fell on this woman.

It was easy to picture myself in that woman’s shoes. Knowing my own limitations with technology, I was certain I could mess up appointment confirmations. 

And there are countless others who are probably as challenged as I am. Many in the aging population, many with limited education or limited tech skills. How do those without cell phones or computers navigate appointment confirmations?

Every business seems to have its own policy for handling appointments. Some merely send a reminder while others request a text, email, or phone reply. As far as I can tell, there’s no continuity—no one right way.

I wondered about that periodontists’ office. If their preference is to have patients confirm appointments by text, do they educate them about their policy ahead of time? Do they make it clear that their appointment will be canceled if they fail to text a confirmation?

The experience moved me so much I immediately started writing about it when I returned home. Putting pen to paper, I set about lambasting every person in that office. I was even angry with the periodontists and others beyond the receptionist’s desk. 

In the moment

I was riding high with my self-righteous indignation. It felt so good to get it all out, to express my outrage at those people. 

And then, right in the middle of my spirited venting, it struck me! How dare I judge those office workers! I had been so wrapped up in commiserating with the poor woman that I’d failed to see the whole picture. 

Suddenly I realized I could have easily been one of those people behind the desk. It wasn’t a hard stretch to envision myself being inflexible with the rules and sending the woman on her way. Rules are rules, you know!

When faced unexpectedly with a patient’s misfortune, I might well have reacted as they did. Most likely I would have been part of that group conversation. I would have joined in in an attempt to make myself feel better about the situation. I would have done it to relieve any feelings of remorse that might be trying to slip in. 

It’s not the best way to handle difficult situations, but I think we often look for allies to help us validate our actions in conflicts. Although I believe this to be true, I also know that, in the moment, I would probably have been right there with the others behind the receptionist’s desk.

Awareness

That realization instantly quashed all anger and left me feeling humbled.  

I initially saw two main sets of players in that scene, the woman and the office staff. But the thing is, I was also in that office. I was in a position to have played a role too. I could have done my part to try and make that situation better. I could have gotten out of my seat and gone to that woman. I could have handed her a bottle of water. I could have given her money for gas. And I could have offered her words of encouragement that just might have uplifted her enough to carry her home.

I could have, but I didn’t.

As it turned out, writing that day offered me a tremendous lesson. It helped me move away from my all-consuming anger and judgment. And then it took me to a place of grace and awareness of my personal responsibility. 

I certainly hope I’ve grown and learned from that experience. And the next time I have the opportunity to offer comfort to a stranger, maybe I’ll be more than a bystander. Maybe when it happens, I’ll be ready to step up and act. Maybe—oh maybe—please, may it be so!