Something in Common

Patty Swyden Sullivan
(Chocolate for a Woman's Soul, Vol. II; 77 Stories to Celebrate the Richness of Life (April 2003, Simon and Schuster)

Chocolate for Woman In my work as a breast pump salesperson, I visited area hospitals to consult with new moms about breast-feeding. At one of these hospitals I would regularly see a statuesque woman stride down the hallway. She was quite beautiful with a flair for distinctive fashion. The other noticeable factor in her appearance was her lack of approachability. Her demeanor evoked an image of an outstretched arm with hand splayed to prevent anyone from entering her personal space. Day in, day out, she strode down the hall, head held high with her eyes fixated on some unknown object in the faraway distance.

I often wondered about this mysterious lady who remained coolly aloof. I asked a few of the nurses on the floor about her. She was a clinical manager quite efficient in her job and well respected, but intimidating and demanding. She consistently maintained an air of detachment except with a few select people. I decided it was in my best professional interest that I not attempt to break into her inner circle. During the next few years, we never acknowledged one another. That is until need overtook protocol.

My husband of twenty-three years decided to change his life by leaving mine. Overnight my days became a nightmare of worry, anguish and despair. Work became almost unbearable. My job demanded a happy face. Seeing these loving families reveling in the miracle of birth with husband and wife united in complete harmony was enough to put even the moderately lovelorn onlookers over the brink. In my condition of total emotional annihilation, I experienced an uncontrollable disdain for the display of familial bliss. I was jealous to the core.

One day as I trudged through the hallway leaning on the wall for support, going from one patient's room to the next, I saw a woman performing the exact same ritual on the opposite wall. It was the clinical manager with whom I had shared this walk space for five years, but had never made eye contact, much less conversation. Suddenly aware of the image of the two of us on opposite sides of the hall, groping our way along, lifting one weighted leg after another, pushing our unwilling spirits to get us through another work day, I started laughing. Somebody just pull the plug, please, and put these two pathetic souls out of their misery. I turned my head so she wouldn't see my face, I was so afraid she would think I was laughing at her.

I did not know why she was so miserable, but the fact of her misery was blatant and it made me realize what I must look like to everyone whose path I crossed. A few days later, one of the floor nurses informed me that the clinical manager's husband had left her. So, that was it. We shared pain. I made a decision. Her office was right next to the nurse's station. I did not hesitate or knock. I stuck my head in her door, startling her. She looked at me with such anxious eyes as I blurted out, "We have something in common." I uncontrollably burst into tears. She replied in kind. It took less than ten seconds for us to open up entirely unto one another...