When 911 calls

Today was definitely a recovery day. This weekend was absolutely insane in that terrible kind of way, and yesterday was atrocious. At least it’s all over now and I thank God for that. Good positive attitude has to be a lifestyle, not a choice ;)

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Today I started making phone calls to patients because tomorrow, my tobacco cessation program finally kicks off. The first call I made was, well…
She sounded like a cool calm breeze in my ear, curious like the first stroke of a painter’s brush. I introduced myself and told her my reason for calling. Her change in tone was enough of a response than her words were, “o I’m so glad you called”. She elaborated more: her brother recently suffered from a stroke losing use of his arm as a result, their mother had just recently passed away, he had just gone through a divorce, and lost his company due to the economy. She was concerned about him having his next stroke; he was concerned about having his next cigarette. Don’t take away from me the only thing which makes me happy she told me he said to her.

20 minutes later revealed their relationship had gone sour after her attempts to convince him to quit. She had all types of people calling him: he would hang up, appointments made: they were cancelled. He was tired of hearing her lecture about what he should do with his own life, and she said just wanted him alive.

She had been seeking help for several years now- made phone calls to everyone and anyone who she thought could help. His doctor, a kind man, was very helpful in throwing meds for depression at him, but it seemed he couldn’t throw in some effort. “You can’t make him quit” is all he said, even after emails pleading for some help, he couldn’t manage to reply to one. Doctor didn’t care. Siblings didn’t care. He didn’t care.

She told me I was her hope, that I was God sent, and she could hear it in my voice.
But I heard God in her voice and I replied.