by Regena Handy
Standing in the hallway, waiting my turn to check out, a glimpse of white entered my peripheral vision. I turned my head towards the end of the corridor as the doctor I’d seen earlier paused before a patient’s door.
I was in Charlottesville for my quarterly visit. As I silently counted my blessings for my own good news, I absently noted the young doctor’s actions. He stood for a moment, smoothed his pristine white coat, then squaring his shoulders, I could see him take in a deep breath as he opened the patient’s door and entered.
Suddenly I understood what the small ritual I’d observed meant. I reflected upon a conversation with his nurse that took place during an appointment some months earlier. She was going over my paperwork at the end of the visit and made a casual remark about my having received good news, and how happy that made everyone — not only the patient but staff and doctor, as well.
Just prior to the doctor coming in to see you, she related with a smile, he did a little happy dance in the hallway. “I get to give good news today,” she quoted him as having said.
I knew from the demeanor I’d just observed upon his entering the other patient’s room that he did not have good news to share. My heart ached for the patient waiting for him, no doubt anxiously. And it also hurt for the young doctor, the bearer of bad news.
Several times since then I’ve thought about that moment. I’ve considered the number of people whose professional role often falls into that category. Aside from medical personnel, there are police officers and military personnel, as well as others, whose responsibilities include the sharing of heart-rending reports. Even clergy are often called upon to perform this painful duty.
Especially during wartime, military officials must have a deeply burdensome role. In the midst of World War II, notices of deaths, injuries, and POW statuses were, unfortunately, common occurrences in the United States and throughout the world.
Other conveyers of unwelcome information became familiar as well during that time period. Often manpower was limited and officers not available to personally carry a message to family members, thus initial notifications came via telegrams. The delivery service became a dreaded sight when they appeared in any home neighborhood of active servicemen.
To close this column on a somewhat lighter note, I recall a story my mother told from the WWII era. She had three older brothers serving in the war and she along with other family members lived in a state of constant apprehension. While aware that her oldest brother had been transferred from one military site to another, they had no other details regarding his or the other brothers’ situation.
Then it came — the much feared telegram. My mother said they anxiously opened it to find a message from her oldest brother letting the family know he had arrived at his destination. Our immediate reaction was one of gratitude that he was okay, she said, followed by wanting to clobber him for scaring us all so badly.
