It took me 1,254 days before I realized I love our University. Some people become enamored with our school before they even attend a class here, and perhaps others will cross the Lawn May 18 with nothing but a fleeting respect for the institution that is giving them a future. Before today, I probably would have been in the latter category. Perhaps it is the onset of fourth-year nostalgia or maybe the combination of flu and pneumonia I have just been diagnosed with. Either way, it was a phenomenal realization, and I am simply glad it happened sooner rather than later.
After almost five straight days of sweating, chills and coughing, I returned to Student Health to find out why my flu medication had not done the trick and why I had begun coughing up blood. After discussing my case with the doctor I mentioned as a side note that I had just been to Belize and Guatemala for a U.Va. J-Term. This immediately added dengue fever, malaria and tuberculosis to my list of possible maladies. Excellent, now off to the lab for some good old-fashioned blood letting.
Nurse: You have great veins for taking blood.
Me: Thank you, everyone tells me that.
Nurse: Oh, there is no excuse for that son, I'm sorry I couldn't get any blood out of that vein, I'm just incompetent, let's have the other nurse try your right arm.
Me: Sure ... no problem.
Now on to the hospital for chest X-rays. The receptionist gave me a face mask, a box of tissues and a promise to skip me in front of everyone else. Not a bad deal -- I appreciated it even though there was only one other person in front of me.
Technician: Now I'm no doctor, but ...
Me: I know you're not a doctor, but does that look like a lot of fluid in my lungs or not?
Technician: Well, see how this one is clear and this one is all white like that, yeah, that is the fluid, but I'm not a doctor so ...
Me: No, I understand. Thank you, I appreciate it.
Feeling weak, exhausted and depressed, I walked with a Michael Jackson-esque face mask toward the lobby to validate my parking. The soft melodious sounds of a piano began to creep into my ears. I entered the lobby and sat down behind the piano. From the back, the pianist was an old man with shock-white hair that perfectly matched his lab coat. Now I am no classical music expert; he could have been playing anything from Mozart to "Mary Had a Little Lamb," but to me at that moment, it was golden. All of the day's woes and the worries about malaria and making up all the work I had from this past week disappeared, and I sat there quietly with two other people and just listened.
I knew this would be one of those moments in time where I would look back and hate myself if I did not act. After three songs he took a lull; I stood up and walked over to him. He wore thick glasses and a stethoscope. I wanted to read his name, but I did not have my glasses.
"Thank you." "You're welcome." It was as simple as that, a quick gesture of appreciation completely insufficient for the ease of mind he had given me.
This act of humility and kindness stood out starkly in my eyes. This man who certainly is above reproach, an aged doctor working at one of the best hospitals in America, had the time to play piano for me. Me? A fourth-year student only beginning to realize the great big world he and his classmates are about to jump into. A fourth-year student who never before appreciated everything his school did for him. Never recognized the nameless faces who worked countless hours to make sure his classes were scheduled, his food was cooked and his waste was picked up. This is my fourth-year epiphany. Being sick here is better than being healthy most places. In fact, almost everything is better here. Perhaps some of you have had your eyes open to this all along. I praise you. I only realized today that every time a professor, alumni or fellow student had told me that U.Va. was different; they were right. Now I only have to get over my pneumonia, influenza, malaria and dengue fever so that I can take advantage of it.
Garrett is a guest columnist.
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