Back Stories

Two weeks ago (Was it only 2 weeks?  It feels like a lifetime...) on a Thursday, the girls were out running, Winnie got off her leash and was hit by a car.  I wasn't home (part of the back story), but when I got home, I assessed the situation; it didn't seem bad--she barely whimpered and continued walking (okay limping) around. So I decided in my overly physically, emotionally and spiritually exhausted state to just watch her.  (And yes I would like to publicly acknowledge this was my decision alone as Chris was out of town--he shares no blame--in fact I was so overwhelmed I forgot to even tell him....)

To SK's credit, she kept saying, "We should probably get her checked."  By Friday late afternoon Chris was home and we agreed to have her checked on Monday if she didn't seem better.  SK kept pushing; finally I exasperatedly said, "Fine.  You take her." (Yes, I abdicated my parental authority.) So she did (without eye rolls I will add). The girls loaded her into the car and headed off to our vet. Not 30 minutes later the phone rang--it was bad--a broken radius; she would need to go immediately to a specialist, and she needed surgery.

I thought the girls would head straight out there, but they came home first.  I'm glad they did as it gave me a chance to regroup and become a responsible adult--I went with them.  (Now here's a real confession--on Friday I spent the day at the pool--it's not why I didn't take her earlier, but it did help me forget--forget the accident, forget the back story.)  The three of us loaded this 50 pound dog in the car in our flip flops, cover ups and bathing suits--it was 6:30 on a Friday evening--not exactly my idea of happy hour....

We arrived and were immediately put into a room and Winnie was whisked into the back to be assessed.  The receptionist returned and gave us an update on what would need to happen.  We had already commented that she wasn't exactly friendly, but remember, it was 6:30 on a Friday night--she was young and probably not thrilled to still be at work.  I began to ask a few questions which she abruptly answered. (I tried really hard not to look at Caroline who I feel certain was not hiding her disgust...)

We agreed to leave her for the weekend and have surgery first thing Monday morning.  Young girl, "I need $4000 please. And we don't take checks."  (Note she did say please...)  Both girls looked at me. "I don't even have my wallet here," I started to explain.  Young girl, "So you don't have $4000?  You can pay $2000 now."  I refrained from saying, "I don't think you heard me--I don't have my wallet and I'm pretty sure that indicates I don't have $2000.  Seriously, I don't have $2000 in cash in my pocket!"  She continued, "You can use a credit card."  Clearly she wasn't listening to me say I DIDN'T HAVE MY WALLET.  (So I wasn't going to tell her that years ago Chris and I got rid of credit cards.)

"So you can't pay for it?" young girl repeated. "No, I'm sorry--not tonight. We're going to have to move some money around.  I can see what I can do by Monday."  At this the girls had tears in their eyes and are offering to help pay.  She clearly was not recognizing the pain and distress so obvious on their faces and in their voices.  "Can you move the money now?"  "M'am," I said, "It's 6:30 on a Friday evening--banks are closed.  I'll have to wait until Monday morning." "Well," she rudely said, "You'll have to take her home and hope for the best before Monday.  I'll let them know you can't pay."

On the outside I was trying to remain calm but inside I was shaking.  As she left I went into my typical social justice tirade.  "How rude!!!  What if we really couldn't pay--seriously how many people have $4000 just sitting in their checking account.  And there are MANY people who wouldn't have $4000 anywhere--they would have to save.  And guess what?  It doesn't mean they don't love their pets any less."  That's what I was saying to my girls; they were agreeing.  But on the inside...

On the inside, I was full of humiliation, shame and deep deep pain.  I wanted to shout at her, "Leave my girls alone--don't you see their in faces?  Don't you see their tears, their hurt?  They had her with them--they are feeling guilty AND IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!  And while I'm at it let me just tell you that this is just one thing that has happened this week in our lives--ONE THING AMONG MANY. You don't know our story.  You have no idea this has been one of the worst weeks of our families' life.  You don't know what money we do or do not have.  You are treating us like a dollar sign and not as people who have a story--You don't know us!"

It was a God moment-they didn't ask, but made the cast monogrammed orange and blue

The vet's assistant came in next and she was AMAZING.  "We have another option.  Surgery is just the fastest fix, but we can cast her for 8 weeks and if you can keep her calm she will heal just fine." "I guess it's a good thing our other summer plans have had to be adjusted and we will be home for 8 weeks instead of at the beach." I thought to myself.  Finally a silver lining to the back story... I have no idea if she believed we could or couldn't pay, but she treated us with dignity and respect--she treated us humanely; she treated us as people with a back story...

Four days later I woke around 5 am and headed downstairs to take care of Winnie.  I heard it raining-"darn it," I thought, "Taking her out in the rain is going to be such a pain."  As I thought these words I looked out the window, it wasn't raining.  At that moment I turned the corner and it was raining--just not outside...I'd so rather have taken her out in the rain....

We spent the next four days with loud fans throughout the house.  When they came to get the fans (the living room AND basement finally dried out), they began the assessment of damage.  We would need new floors throughout the main floor, a new ceiling, new basement ceiling, new carpet in the basement..and the list continues.  "Mrs. Doyle," the estimator said, "I am so sorry this has happened to you.  I know it looks awful and it's overwhelming, but we've seen worse and we'll do everything we can to make this as easy for you all as possible.  I'm sorry you are going to have to spend your summer this way."  Dignity, respect, compassion....

I've been thinking a lot about these two experiences.  I'm still annoyed about the first.  I still like to get on my high horse about social justice--I try to pretend that's my big beef--people who have no other options.  But that's not it.  It's dignity and respect REGARDLESS.  It's recognizing that what brings people to an emergency vet on a Friday night or what brings estimators into a flooded house is traumatic in and of itself; it's responding to people's places of pain with tenderness and care.  And it's remembering that we all have back stories--stories we may or may not share, but stories that impact our lives; it's recognizing that what you're seeing is a snapshot of a life's album--an album you haven't seen.

I keep thinking about John 8 and how this woman was being publicly humiliated and how Jesus bent down.  I picture him bending down so he can look up into her eyes--meet her where she is.  He never asks her what her back story is, but he knows there is one.  She didn't wind up being brought forward and shamed without one.  Instead Jesus treated her with tenderness, dignity and with immense compassion.

We all have back stories--some we want to share--one day I may share ours--and some we don't.  But they exist; they are part of our lives.  May we remember others have them too...perhaps that young girl also has a back story...