This week I was sitting in the lab waiting room at Kaiser Permanente medical center watching for my number to be called to give blood and urine for updated testing. A rather tall, gray haired man sat down next to me.
I had passed him on my scooter as I buzzed through Kaiser and nodded at him. There’s a funny thing about being on the scooter. People notice me or smile. When our eyes meet, I sometimes waggle my eyebrows if I don’t have a quick smile. Going into the building, a scooter user passed me going the other way and gave me a jaunty wave. As I waved back and smiled, I felt like a younger version of myself giving The Wave to other motorcycle riders in the 80s—with the exception of those Harley riders who were too cool to wave to us regular street bike riders.
The man extended his long legs explaining he wouldn’t get in the way of the scooter as he knew I’d be called first. I looked at him questioningly and said, “Because I got here first?”
He responded, “Well, I saw you pass me and you very correctly passed me on the left.”
“Yes,” I said. “I try not to exceed the speed limit.”
“I don’t even know what the speed limit is.”
“Neither do I, but I try not to exceed it.”
There was silence between us for a minute before I looked over at him and asked how he was doing. He said, “I’m bemused and thoughtful.”
I said, “Bemused? That’s an interesting word.”
“You don’t hear it very often.”
“No,” I agreed. “Are you bemused and thoughtful about the state of our medical system or life in general?”
He said, “Both actually. Of course, no one is here if they’re doing well.”
“That’s true.”
“They don’t tell you what this tour is going to be like.”
“True, but you don’t want to take an early exit.”
“No. My heritage is Swedish. My ground floor is I will not take that option.” I nodded.
I saw he was carrying a fairly well worn book with papers sticking out of it. On a whim, I showed him a picture I had taken early that morning from our deck of the sky reflected in the lake. It took him a minute to focus on my phone and get what the picture was. Then, he got excited. “Turn it upside down and cut out the dock.”
“I’ll have to lock the screen.”
“Or stand on your head.”
“That seems a bit extreme.” I locked the screen and turned the phone upside down. It took me a minute to see it. But, the sky looked better reflected in the water. It was a mirror imagine but the sky was prettier in the water. He said as much. I saw the picture was virtually the same either way.
While I was pondering this with a close visual scrutiny, he suddenly said, “That’s your number.”
I looked up. “What? It’s 188?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I have to go. Thanks for telling me it was my number.” I maneuvered the scooter around his legs and then the lab door was closing as I looked back at him. That wasn’t how I wanted our conversation to end. I wasn’t done talking to him by a long shot.
After leaving the lab, I saw he was gone. I had to go to my car to take the dog for a little run, sniff, and pee before I returned to the building for my next appointment. I looked for him but he was nowhere.
My next appointment was an MRI in radiology. I was signing in and getting paperwork. I saw him walking behind the counter back to the waiting room with a nurse after an x-ray or something. I positioned myself so I could greet him as he came through the door.
I stuck out my hand to shake his and said, “I wanted you to know I enjoyed talking with you.”
He shook my hand and said, “We don’t have to stop.”
“Yeah, but I have an MRI now.”
He said, “Well, you have five minutes.” It wasn’t a question.
I looked at the receptionist who smiled. I turned back to him. “You’re right.” I gestured, “Take a seat and I’ll be with you in a minute.”
As he moved away, the receptionist said, “You have 30 minutes. Your appointment’s not until 11.”
“I thought it was 10:30.”
“No. Eleven. They’ve been telling people to come 30 minutes early.”
I looked back at him. He said, “So, you have 30 minutes.”
“Apparently, I do.”
What might have been seriously annoying at another time turned out to be a gift. He and I moved to a two person seat, side by side. As he sat down, I asked him his name. He shook my hand again and said, “John.”
“My name’s Joceile.” Then, we did the normal dance about the origins of my name. I’m named after my grandparents, Joe and Lucille.
After pondering a minute, he said, “Good, I was afraid you were named after your parents.”
I thought about what he might mean by that and decided it was better to not have parents name a kid after themselves. Rather, be named after someone senior with nobility potential and confirmed with a chuckle, “No, my grandparents.”
“Good.”
I noticed the book in his hands and asked him what it was. He showed me the cover. “It’s about the Declaration of Independence. Just those few paragraphs. She parses it out, digging deeper.” The book was dog eared with highlighting here and there. He opened a section with a red underlined sentence. “It has writing from the framers. The founding fathers and the one woman I know of, Jane Adams. She had a part.”
I looked at where his finger was pointing but couldn’t quite make out the sentence at an angle. He continued, “I like this part where they all agree as a group that their job was to support each other so they could flourish. I like that. Support each other to flourish.” I liked it too.
I saw the picture of the author and asked to look closer. She looked African American. I saw that she was a professor at Harvard and other notable institutions. He said, “She’s very well educated.”
I asked him what his profession was. I didn’t know if he was retired or not. “I’m a civil servant.”
“So, am I. Where do you work?” He quoted another state agency.
“How long have you worked for the state?”
“Since 1984.”
I waited a beat. “I started in 1978.” He was still. I thought he was surprised. “I started young.”
“A child prodigy...another one.” I knew he was also referring to himself. Although, I don’t consider myself a prodigy.
He looked seriously at my eyes. “What?”
“I wanted to see what color your eyes were.”
“Brown. They’re brown.”
“You reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. They had one blue and one brown eye.” Clearly, I wasn’t that person.
We talked about what kind of work he did. He worked on preserving the environment. His team process included identifying what got in the way and what supported positive action. I commented change always requires identifying those two things.
He asked me what agencies I had worked for and what I did. He didn’t seem surprised that I help employees who have medical conditions.
I asked him if he had family. “Not much. An ex-wife, a daughter, and a step son.” We talked about our adult daughters.
Eventually, the conversation moved back to the tour we are on. The life tour. “I was getting an EKG. I have to have a little medical procedure. I’ll be glad when it’s over.”
“They don’t give us a guide for this tour.”
“No.” He said thoughtfully.
We kept talking. I liked this man called John. I wasn’t sure why. I knew I didn’t want to let him go. I started looking for something to write on. “I don’t usually do this. But, can I have your name and number?”
“John.” I wrote it with his last name and he gave me his cell number on a small piece of paper. “If you lose it, you can find me at my agency. Can I have yours? Do you have a business card?”
I started looking in the scooter’s little attached bags. “I should have one here somewhere?”
“I saw you have your business card taped to the scooter.”
I was still looking for a business card. “That’s for when I fly. I don’t want to lose the scooter.”
“Oh, they have to put it down under.”
“Yes, it’s very light.” Finally, I found a business card and wrote my cell number on the back. He started to move like he was ready to go. “I really enjoyed talking to you today,” I said. "Maybe, another time, we could talk again.” I couldn’t explain it. I was glad to know where to find him. I’m old enough now to know that if a chance passes me by it may never come around again. He got up and walked away.
I’ve thought about him, pondering why I cared. Wondering why I couldn’t let him leave without some way to find him. John. I have seen his note this afternoon and remember him with fondness that can’t be explained by a chance meeting. I just didn’t want to lose John, Mr. Bemused.
Was it just the word that caught me? After that, the words added to our conversation made me want to talk to him more. I didn’t catch any alarming flags. He had me at bemused.
It makes me think about the power of words. I work with so few people that pay close attention to their words. I hear “awesome” and “great” so many times a day. I want to hear words with richness and definition. Words that make me pay attention.
In my work with people who have their employment on the line while they struggle with a medical condition affecting their lives, I choose my words carefully. There is always a liability issue. I might find myself in court one day. It happened once. But, I have to be there in the room with them listening and understanding while choosing my words so they touch them. The words can’t just bounce off with no meaning. I have to show my attention and compassion. I can’t use the same words over and over just because they’re easy.
I have noticed that what works for struggling employees is that we talk about what’s going on with them. What they need. Sometimes, they say, “The agency just wants to get rid of me.” I return their focus back to them. I don’t know what the agency wants. All I know is what matters is what they need to do for them—for their health and wellness. The agency will survive. It always has. But, we’re talking about them. “What do you need to do for you?”
I used to have a director that said, “Watch Joceile. Sit in there with her if you can. It’s magic. Employees go in angry and frowning. Somehow, they come out friendly and smiling.” It’s not magic. It’s unflinchingly sitting with them listening to their truth in moments of terrible discomfort and fear.
That’s what makes the difference in the words I choose. Am I in the room with them? John and I were in the room together. In a waiting room with others listening, we chose our words and made contact. I don’t know if we will ever see each other again. In that moment relishing words with him, I was and remain bemused. I found comfort. I knew he was on a journey with me right then. The tour continues. Thanks, John. Be well.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
8/9/19
[Picture of the sky reflected in a lake with a dock on a early cloudy morning.]
[Picture of the sky reflected in a lake with a dock on a early cloudy morning.]
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