The Other “F-Word”

It’s not what you’re thinking.  I haven’t gone off the deep end.  You may not agree with every aspect of what I’m going to share, but I promise it’s relevant no matter what walk of life you are currently travelling. 

Many of you read our blog when we started with Little Brother’s big surgery.  I didn’t write much initially about how angry I was with the doctors who saw him every two weeks for the first seven months of his life.  I wanted to focus on getting my baby better, and not on how incompetent the doctors seemed when they didn’t catch either the issue with his skull that was later so obvious, or the adenoids that were so big that he just couldn’t breathe. 

Anger isn’t a big enough word.  I was full to overflowing with  anger.  I wrote letters I never sent.  I looked into malpractice.  I had visions of going into their office and screaming at them in front of their patients and staff.  This was my baby, and they did not do their job. 

Anger is never productive.  It’s corrosive.  It’s sickly sweet going down, and then eats you from the inside.  The Greek word for this kind of bitterness is pikria, and it’s used to describe the bitterness of poison.  Try telling that to an angry mother.  What I really wanted was to give them my bitterness.  But it doesn’t work that way.  So, I gave them the only thing I had left, my forgiveness.  Hour by hour at first, then day by day and week by week, I forgave them. 

You’re still here?  Good.  Here’s the amazing part.  About a year ago, I unexpectedly ran into the doctor that we saw the most, the one I counted on, and the one I held the most anger towards.  We were both sitting in the waiting room of another doctor’s office.  (I do forget that doctors have to go to other doctors as well!)  We were the only ones there.  As we sat in that empty waiting area with terrible XM radio in the background, I shook.  He didn’t even notice me.  But I shook, and I began to sweat.  I knew what had to be done.  I had to use the F-word.

I got up and sat across from him.  He looked up, and I smiled.  I said, “You probably don’t remember me, but”….he interrupted, “No, no, I do.  You have two little boys, right?”  Yes, he remembered.  I proceeded to tell him the reason we no longer come to his practice is because he and his colleagues made a mistake.  A big mistake.  They missed something major.  I told him what our family went through, how much worse it was because of their mistake.   I expected him to get defensive.  I expected anger.  Instead, he now shook.  He was pale.  He hung his head and said, “I’m sorry, I’m just so sorry.  I had no idea.”  And that gave me the chance to let him hear, “I forgive you.” 

I wanted him to know what had happened, to go back to his office and look up pictures and information about what he had missed.  I wanted him to never miss it again.  But most of all, I knew this was my chance to tell him, out loud, the F-word.  It wasn’t the F-word I originally had in mind, but it was SO much better. 

It’s Easter week, and in my house, that means we talk about forgiveness, in its biggest form.  We think about all of the things we’ve been forgiven for.  Sometimes I wonder what hurts I’ve caused others that I’m so far unaware of, and I hope that they too have forgiven me.  I also think about the things that others have had to forgive, and whether I could bring myself to vomit up that bitterness and exchange it for forgiveness.  Friends, don’t carry that around.  Use the F-word.  Choose to be Love.

Here’s a video of the incredible beauty one family, and those who chose to love them, have created out of a most tragic circumstance.  They chose Love. (Yes, you might want to grab the tissues first.)