By the time we left for the geneticist appointment I had cried many times. Sobbed, in fact, at the prospect of facing this unknown. To say I was anxious wouldn't even begin to describe the complete breakdown I was having. Paul, Mae and I hopped in the car just as it started to drizzle. We arrived at the building downtown after I had gotten turned around by my GPS -Thanks Technology!- I pulled into the garage only to read a sign that said to move forward, DO NOT REVERSE!, which threw me and made me think I was pulling into the employee lot. I rang the buzzer and told the voice on the other end that I had made a mistake, and the voice instructed me to stop inside and get a ticket.
Oh, is that all?
I pulled into an emergency lane, freaking out about the time. I saw a guard station at the exit gate. I hesitated. I couldn't decided what to do. The clock ticked forward another minute. I grabbed Paul and then Mae. I stopped a stranger to ask where I should get my ticket. She pointed me in no less than three different directions. The clock ticked forward. My eyes filled with tears, and I said, "Okay, thanks!" in the most forced cheerful voice I could manage, which probably sounded like I was screaming at her. I turned to get back into my car.
"Do you need help?"
I spun around. A man in green scrubs with a surgical cap on marched toward me. "Can I help? Is your appointment in there?"
"Is it with cardiology?"
"No, we're here for the geneticist. I think I pulled into the wrong place. I'm turned around." I just couldn't stop my eyes from welling up. He was going to help!
"Hold on." He ran to the guard station at the gate, gestured toward me and came jogging back. "Here's your ticket. You can park in here. Looks like you pulled too far forward since it is one-way." A car pulled out of it's spot about 30 feet behind my car. "Oh, hang on!" He ran back and stopped traffic and waved me back. I reversed and parked. By the time I hopped out of my car, he was gone.
The whole experience just about broke me. I sobbed the rest of the way to Dr. P's office. I had settled a bit by then because Paul was so excited to ride in the elevator with so many buttons. We had our appointment, and then were sent to the hospital across the street for the blood draw.
I will spare you the drama that followed getting to the hospital, and then to extended care for the girls before it closed at 6. I will only say this: That doctor in his green scrubs was Christ. I mean no hyperbole or blasphemy. That doctor was animated by compassion for this weepy mess of a woman with two small children at his work place. He did very little, but more than any other person of the hundreds around me were willing to do. It took all of three minutes, and he absolutely saved me. It was clear he was in a hurry, he skedaddled immediately. Three minutes of his time gave me the strength to face the rest of that trying day, to not snap at my bouncy, clueless three-year-old, to remember that God cares about my rough day enough to show me in a clear and concise way that He is always present, caring and active. I pray that I can do that for someone else just once, even if I never know it.