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She was silent. Probably unpacking the heavy load I’d just delivered.
“Serious question time,” she warned.
“Like what?” I wasn’t in the mood for deeper questions about my childhood.
“How the hell do you keep in shape with all the baked goods people give you? Last weekend there were two loaves of bread on your kitchen counter along with at least three dozen cookies. What is your secret?”
I chuckled at her attempt to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, my plethora of homemade baked goods was a source of teasing by the other doctors and a sore spot even if she didn’t realize it. “I sample everything, but I end up donating the majority of it to a local shelter. Each Monday morning I bring them a box full of goodies.”
Smiling, she shook her head. “I’d rather have heard you had a secret to burning off all the carbs, but what you actually do is nice. It’s especially wonderful that the people you take care of regard you highly enough to cook for you.”
“How so?”
“Think about it. Family dinners are about providing joy through food to connect people together. When someone experiences a death in the family, people drop off food to comfort them. Your patients taking the time to thank you with food is the ultimate personal gift for the care you provide them.”
I was so moved by her words, I couldn’t speak for a moment. The fact she understood me on a level no one else did, professionally or personally, was something I had not expected.
“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to walk into someone’s home and know they’ve baked for me or made me breakfast. It’s why I prefer working with the older patients instead of these young athletes and actors who wouldn’t bother. I love the personal touch.”
