Mysterious Ways: The Great Physician
I was nervous about finding the right doctor. Then, mysteriously, a name came to mind…
Lord, please guide me to the right doctor, I prayed. All day, I’d been browsing websites to find the right physician to perform my colonoscopy. After two previous bouts with cancer, I wanted to put my health in the hands of someone I could trust. But who? Then the name Walter popped into my head.
Walter? My old prep school buddy? It had to have been at least 35 years since we’d last seen or spoken to one another.
Still, I’d never forget the first time I saw him—at a solid six foot five, I mistook him for a teacher! I soon learned, though, that under that big exterior was an even bigger heart. Walter was the most kind, optimistic person I’d ever met. We became fast friends. No matter what the situation, Walter always saw the up side.
We’d gone to Syracuse together—me in pre-law and Walter in pre-med, and after graduation, he was even the best man at my wedding. But as the years passed, we lost touch. I didn’t even know what kind of doctor he’d become, if he even practiced, and where.
But now I couldn’t get his name out of my mind. I typed it into Google. The first result showed “M.D.” next to his name. So he was practicing! I clicked on the link to find out where. Next to his name was his title: Director of Surgery, Rectal Colon, Yale Medical Group. The exact type of doctor I needed—and only 40 miles away!
At Walter’s office, we picked right back up from where we’d left off. “I’m glad you looked me up after all these years,” he said. He still had that same upbeat personality, and he kept me relaxed throughout the scary and awkward testing.
The results came in a couple days later. “Mark, I’m afraid you have colon cancer,” Walter said. “It’s a pretty big mass.”
My stomach clenched. Cancer? Again? I couldn’t speak…but Walter’s calm voice continued. “I will perform your surgery, and depending on the stage, you’ll be looking at an average of six to eight months of chemo. Try not to worry though, okay? You’re going to get through this.”
Walter was right. I did. Several days after the surgery, he called to tell me that chemo wasn’t necessary. The scans came back all clear. “We got it all,” he said. “I’ve never seen that happen with a mass as large as yours. I can’t explain it.”
Well, there was one way to explain it. A crack medical team: my old buddy and the greatest physician of them all.