My brother Mike is a physical therapist. An excellent physical therapist. His job requires traveling to rehabilitation centers and to people’s homes to treat patients.
He can see to do his work without glasses. However, the monstrous amount of paperwork that any medical care involves calls for those reading glasses. Just like me, and his wife Tami, the eyewear Queen, he bought “Dime Store Glasses.”
One day he purchased a pair that was not only perfect for reading the fine print, but also fit his head and flattered his face. They came with a price tag about four times higher than the previous ones, but still not as expensive as prescription glasses. He was extremely happy with this discovery and kept them with him at all times.
Unfortunately, one evening he arrived home to the realization that his favorite eyewear had not arrived home with him.
In his mind, he retraced his route, going over his hourly activity in an attempt to pinpoint the last memory of having them.
His final patient of the day was an elderly stroke patient. The old gentlemen had been difficult and uncooperative. He remembered writing his patient assessment, then returning to the patient’s bedside to give an encouraging word before he said goodbye.
“I think I left my glasses on Mr. Smith’s nightstand,” Mike told his wife why he was leaving earlier than usual for work the next morning. It was only a few minutes out of his way to drive by and collect them.
Mike arrived at the convalescent home, greeted the staff, and walked down the hall to Mr. Smith’s room.
Mr. Smith lay sound asleep upon his bed. There, prominently displayed upon his hawkish nose, sat Mike’s glasses.
Tiptoeing quietly to the fellow’s bedside he hoped to put a finger under the frame and lift them without detection.
Mr. Smith did not stir. In fact, Smith seemed eerily quiet. Mike leaned close and realized that Smiths chest was still. He grabbed the man’s lifeless cold wrist and checked hopefully for a non-existent pulse. Retreating from the room, he made his way to the charge nurse to report the passing of his patient.
Then, he remembered why he was there.
Mike walked back into Mr. Smiths room and over to the body. He stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Finally, he grabbed the specs, folded them and placed them in his pocket, and returned to the busy schedule of his day.
We laugh about the absurdity of it now.
What would YOU do?