Mrs. Betty

I did a rotation in a clinic back home last fall, and it was one of my favorite months. I met one of my most memorable patients who told me a story I'll never forget. It's a story about the kind of love I pray that Matt and I have for each other until we're old, gray (or bald), and taking full advantage of the Senior Discount at McDonald's. I thought about this story and this patient recently, and I wanted to share it. I don't do it justice, but I'll try.

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I met a lovely 82-year-old who told me to call her Mrs. Betty. She showed me the bite on her foot, and I went over the medicines she needed refilling. Somehow during our conversation, she began to tell me about her husband, Ed. He called her Mama.

Back in May, Ed and Mrs. Betty were watching TV when Ed said, "Hey, Mama, what size ring do you wear?" She told him she wore a 7, and he laughed and said, "I thought you had little fingers!" She promptly informed him that a 7 did not mean she had fat fingers. She was average. Then he asked her when her birthday was. "You know it's November 12." Ed said, "I'm not gonna forget it this year, Mama." She wondered what he was up to, but she didn't ask. That was the end of that conversation.

Two weeks later, Ed went out to his garden. He didn't come back. He died right there, doing what he loved to do. A few weeks after the funeral, Mrs. Betty was going through the table drawer next to Ed's chair. She found an envelope with a note, written in pencil in his handwriting: "Mama, I ordered this for your birthday. I know I won't be here. I love you, forever. Love, Ed." Inside the envelope was a picture of a ring and the phone number of a jeweler. Mrs. Betty called the jeweler, and they told her that the ring had already been paid for, but that they were told not to ship it until the end of October so that it would not be there before her birthday. Sure enough, a couple of days before her birthday, the mailman knocked on her door and handed her a small package.

I sat on a stool in that exam room, close to Mrs. Betty, listening with tears in my eyes. Mrs. Betty cried as she pulled that envelope out of her purse with her beloved husband's handwriting on it. She cried as she opened the box and showed me that beautiful ring. "Edmond & Betty" was inscribed on it. "Isn't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" It absolutely was. She cried as she told me that it wouldn't fit on her swollen finger right now.

I am not a pretty crier. My face turns splotchy and red, and it stays that way for hours. I left the exam room and found my attending. He said "What's wrong? Are you okay??" I skipped the formal patient presentation, and I said, "Mrs. Betty needs to tell you a story. It's show-and-tell, and I suggest you bring a box of Kleenex."

She let us take a picture with her, and it's one of my favorite pictures from medical school. She's showing off her ring, and it's precious. It just reminds me why I want to do this. I love people. I really do. People tell their doctors everything (more so than I ever knew before I entered my 3rd year of medical school!), and I really think it is such a privilege to be that person that people trust with their health, their lives, their secrets, and their stories. I can't imagine another job. I won't post my favorite picture because of privacy issues (even though Mrs. Betty said we could post in on a billboard for all she cared), but I do have a picture that I will share.

Isn't that the most beautiful story ever? There's no way Ed could have known that he would die. I can't remember exactly, but I believe he had an arrhythmia or something similar. Sudden. He didn't have cancer. He wasn't really sick. He just somehow knew in his heart that it was his time to go, and he wanted to make sure his wife, the love of his life, had a happy birthday even though he would be gone. How thoughtful and loving and wonderful is that? I just think it's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard. What a lucky woman Mrs. Betty is! Ed loved her so very much, and he went out of his way to make sure she knew it--even after his death. If only all of us could be so blessed.

For the record, Mrs. Betty is the only patient who has ever made me question whether I'd rather do geriatrics or pediatrics.