Serving Others

The insistent buzzing tugs at my sleeping state of consciousness.  I reach blindly for the nightstand, determined to find the source of the annoying sound.  My hand circles around my cell phone and for an instant I consider not answering before my eyes land on the time.  2:41 a.m.  Late night phone calls usually mean one thing and it isn’t fluffy unicorns and happy endings.  Heart racing, I slide my finger across the screen and rasp out a sleepy hello.  My brother doesn’t bother with formalities and quickly urges me to pass the phone to my husband, who is now awake with a look of confusion on his face.  I do as I’m instructed and listen intently as my husband plays a game of 21 questions.  He mutters something about gas station sushi and food poisoning, and I feel my heart rate slow.  Nothing life threatening.
 

I can’t help but think back to when I first met my husband.  He told me that he planned on becoming a primary care physician with hopes of living in a rural area.  He wanted to practice a broad spectrum of medicine: in-patient and out-patient care, OBGYN, small surgical procedures, pediatrics, etc.  If you aren’t from a small town, this idea might sound foreign to you.  The standard of care is a little different in rural areas.  Not better.  Not worse.  Just different.  Five years later and my husband is close to realizing his dream.  He’s in a spot to get a residency that will train him to be the kind of doctor he's always dreamed of.  And I’m realizing that with that comes a price tag.  I’m not talking about the enormous amount of student loans.  I’m talking about our families and their apparent dependency on his not-yet-doctor knowledge.  I imagine it will only get worse as the years go on.

Just about the time when I get a little frustrated with fielding phone calls because little Alice has a slight fever or my brother’s roommate is suffering from explosive food poisoning, my husband reminds me that there will be times when he might have to make house calls.  I know this, of course, but I’ve never lived it.  I’ve never been married to a doctor.  I try to imagine our future and the naive part of me believes he will work a standard 9-5 day but the realistic part of me knows that won’t be the case. There will be many nights he will be on call for the E.R. or to deliver a baby.  Holidays don’t exist in medicine.  I’m trying to be patient when he gets random phone calls or runs down the street to check out a possible ear infection, but it’s hard.  I keep thinking he should be my husband first, doctor second.  

And then it hits me.  First, before anything else, we should be disciples of Christ.  When we follow Him, we commit ourselves to serving others.  Apparently I need to work on this.  My husband is in a position to help others often.  I should be grateful for that.  I hope and pray that in the years to come, I will embrace it and remember that I’m not falling second to medicine.  Instead, I’ve got a front row seat to witness my husband use the abilities that God has blessed him with to serve others and become a true disciple of our Savior.  

-M. Quinn