#nana56b
Lines from the story
It was the day I was working
part-time at the reception
desk of an ENT clinic. A
mother accompanied by a young
boy with a disability walked
in, her face pale and her
head bowed. The anguish of
parenting was evident in her
exhausted eyes.
Her shoulders were slumped so
low they looked as if they
might snap at any moment; she
seemed on the verge of being
crushed by the hardships of
raising a child.
Then, just as the mother and
her son were about to leave
after their appointment, the
doctor, who had just come out
of the exam room, called
them back.
Holding the mother’s hand,
he said:
“Mom. There will definitely
come a day when you’ll be
able to say, ‘I’m so glad
this child was born.’”
Tears poured from her eyes
as if a dam had burst, and
her heart-wrenching sobs
echoed through the quiet
clinic.
My eyes stung, and before
I knew it, I was crying
along with her.
I could hear the sounds of
other patients sobbing in
the waiting room as well.
I later learned that the
doctor, in fact, had a
child with a disability of
her own.
Those words were by no
means just empty
platitudes. They may
have been a prayer from
the very depths of her
soul.
