I wasnt there but I felt your fear. We are mothers after all who have big, strong sons. Strong arms that will hold us when we are frail and weak.
We will never meet but I was there in the waiting room with you. I was holding your hand. I shed a tear. I wanted to yell at the doctors to hurry. I wanted to scrub in and help.
He swallowed a screw you told me through tear brimmed eyes.
“He was fixing the wall in our house when he inhaled it. When he started coughing painful spurts of blood we knew there was trouble. There are no doctors near our village. A friend drove us in his truck many miles to the hospital.”
“They told us the risk was great they couldn’t find the screw in the x-ray. The doctor knew something was there. they had to find it.”
I hugged her. There was a picture in my mind of a screw in your son. I prayed the doctor would find it my friend. If he were my son, you would do the same.
They found the screw after hours of exploring. “The rate of infection is high,” they said. After two weeks, the mother, my friend proudly showed me the screw tucked next to her heart. We danced around the screw – for life, for sons.
I wrote this note to the mama I will never meet:” I got the call before your son went into surgery; my friend a doctor was overseas. He was there when your son needed him. Our lives are different you are from a small village in Zimbabwe I am from a big city in the United Stated. We are one as mothers. I was so glad my doctor friend was there to help your son. I was there with you in prayer.”