Monday, 16th October
As I sat in the corridor of St Marys Hospital, the air thick with the scent of bleach and weariness, I kept my handbag close, hands clutching at the worn leather as if all my hope and worry were tucked inside. It was earlywell before the city had properly wokenand since seven oclock Id stayed rooted to the same battered plastic chair, eyes never wavering from the door that led to the consulting rooms. Id travelled from York, all the way down to London, nearly two hundred miles in total. I wasnt one to complain, so I simply waited, quiet, feet tapping a nervous rhythm on the tile.
I wasnt alone. There was a man with his arm in a cast, grimacing every now and again; a young woman with eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep; a mother, her son sound asleep against her shoulder. We were united by silence, each with our own silent prayer: Lord, let this pass quickly.
Then, from further down the corridor, he arrived. An older gentleman, perhaps seventy-five, dressed immaculately: navy wool coat that carried the faintest scent of aftershave, polished cane, and a bowler hat perched just so. He walked as if the world belonged to him and time itself would bend for his wishes. Without speaking, hardly acknowledging anyones presence, he strode straight to the door, hand outstretched towards the handle.
I stood upnot angrily, but with the quiet dignity you carry when you have little but self-respect.
Excuse me, sir, but its my turn next. Ive been waiting since seven and Ive come all the way from York.
Only then did he glance at me, as if hed just realised the corridor wasnt empty.
He offered a thin, cold smile. Madam, I am someone important. I havent the time to wait like you. His words cut sharper as he added, When you reach my age and have accomplished something with your life, you learn time is too precious to be squandered in queues.
I stayed silent, his words settling uncomfortably on my shouldersnot for the wasted turn, but for the humiliation that accompanied it. The corridor fell still, everyone holding their breath.
Suddenly, the door swung open. The doctor, a man in his fifties, coat creased and eyes lined with fatigue, surveyed the small gathering.
Whats going on out here?
The smartly-dressed man stepped forward with confidence. Doctor, I am here for my appointment. Please see me at onceI cannot be kept waiting.
For a moment, the doctor simply looked at him, saying nothing. Then, his eyes sought mine.
Are you the lady whos been waiting since seven?
I nodded, voice barely more than a whisper. Yes I came from York.
He sighed, long and tired. Then, turning to the gentleman, he spoke, his voice calm yet curiously sharp.
Sir I recognise you.
The mans chest puffed out; clearly, he was used to being acknowledged.
The doctor continued, You were my teacher at grammar school.
A heavy hush settled over the corridor. The elderly man smiled, as if this cemented his right to special treatment. But the doctors face remained solemn.
I recall a lesson you repeated, he said slowly. The worth of a man isnt shown by his attire or his rank, nor by how loudly he speaks, but by the kindness he shows towards those less able to defend themselves.
The old gentleman blinked rapidly, gripping his cane a little tighter, suddenly unsure. The doctor stepped closer, not unkind, but unmistakeably honest.
Today, you werent someone, sir. Today, you were simply a man who forgot how to be decent.
A flush crept over the old mans cheeks, his jaw tightening as the assembled eyes pressed in with silent judgment. The doctor opened the consulting room door and spoke clearly enough for all to hear, The lady is next. Its her turn.
I walked into the room, tears pricking my eyes, but I held my head high. The old gentleman fell back against the wall and quietly took a seat.
For perhaps the first time in years, he waited his turn. In that small moment, I think he realised that being someone isnt about stepping over others, but about treating everyone with respect.
When he was finally called in, he paused before saying anything else.
Doctor Im truly sorry about earlier.
The doctors sternness faded, replaced by a warm smile.
Its never too late to behave with decency, sir. What really matters isnt the volume at which you speak, but the kindness in your actions.
You can look important in the eyes of the world and still fall short of common courtesy. On the other hand, you can be quiet, humble, invisibleand yet tower above through simple dignity.
I often wonder what I would have done in the doctors shoes. Or in mine. If this story strikes a chord within you, perhaps share it. Someone out there may need a small reminder that humanity is never out of season.
