Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I had to leave since I had work to do in the morning. Classes to get to. Things to do. The little things.

    My mother was in the hospital and had been in the ER for quite some time. They were going to keep her overnight to make sure she didn't have anything serious. At that time, I was a history student so I had no idea what the doctors were mumbling about or thinking. I was just worried. Harried. My sister and I stood by her bedside, just waiting. Waiting is the worst part. It's the symbol of our helplessness.

    I remember the doctors not being sure what it was. They discussed and decided to do a battery of tests. They wouldn't give us a straight answer. I don't remember why. Just that things were up in the air, I was worried, my mother was in pain, and I had to somehow leave. It didn't give me much confidence.

    I took a cab and the driver was polite and considerate. I remember him asking me what was wrong and me babbling about something, not in the mood to talk. But, I remember telling my mother's symptoms. I remember the driver, in the most gentle voice quietly telling me that my mother would be fine and he proceeded to tell me why. He explained the pain was most probably from something X, and that the symptoms of Y showed my mum was going to be fine. That, probability wise, she would be healthy after a simple procedure and she would be back home nagging me by tomorrow afternoon. I listened, dumbstruck, as he told me these things, quietly, dignified, and much more aware of my emotional query and anxiety than the doctors back at the hospital.

    He held a quiet grace and he even drove well. I asked him where he was from.


    How do you know all this?

    "I was a doctor back home. I practiced. But I came here for my family."

    After a quiet pause, our mutual thoughts on a common immigrant story, he repeated,

    "Son, don't worry about your mum. She will be fine. "

    I could only tip him and thank him. He thanked me back and we shook hands. They were firm and I noticed his face was pensive once more. Gentle and non-assuming, I kept thinking.

    I went to school the next day. My mother came home healthy. He was right. It was exactly what he said without the tests or even seeing my mother. He was a better doctor and a caregiver than the ones in the hospital. I remember, he was certainly more human.

  • Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.