Delta and I have become good friends over the past year. Between a few special trips to celebrate weddings and anniversaries, and a few meetings for work, I have been in the air a lot this year. I know where the good restrooms are in ATL and DTW. I still loathe travel through SLC, but I found a new favorite in MSP.

I have my routine down to a science. Always choose the aisle seat. Place the arm rest down, but don’t rest your arm on it. Keep your feet on your side of the foot divider, please. I will be cordial if you say hello as you sit down next to me, but we aren’t going to be BFF by the end of the flight, ok? I get deeply engrossed in whatever book I have brought along as soon as I sit down. You should, too. 🙂

Despite all of my personal rules for flying, I apparently seem like a very approachable girl and have found myself in some interesting conversations in the air lately. Somewhere over Colorado, my window seat buddy revealed he works for the University my son is applying to. He wasted no time supplying me with his business card and repeating over and over how happy he would be to help. (I gave the card to Jack immediately upon my return home.) Nice guy. I appreciated his kindness.

Although I had my book in hand, the middle-aged pal to my right, somewhere over Utah, kept talking and talking, dropping names of athletes and actors, businessmen and politicians, that he reportedly golfs/travels/parties with. He would pause and say, “Oh, I know you want to read, I’ll leave you alone now…” followed three seconds later by, “There was this one time when I was in New York and insert name of famous musician here invited me up to his place. Was a great time. He’s a really nice guy, you know. Our kids go to school together…” By the end, I figured he was lying to me about all of it. I don’t remember his name. And got off the plane just feeling exhausted.

Then there was Denver. Denver was different. While still on the ground, a friendly woman about 10 years my senior, sat down in the window seat to my left. She reached for her book. I smiled at her. “Going home?”, I asked. “Yes. Minneapolis is home. You?” “No. Trying to get to Indy tonight.” There were a few more words of chit chat…I don’t remember what now. Somehow we both sheepishly admitted we are physicians. I generally don’t offer that information up without being pressed…for a variety of reasons. Her eyes lit up and we realized we were sisters in medicine. Without a word, we traded the message…I know. I know medical school and residency. I know long work hours and time away from family. I know insurance and paperwork and malpractice. I know you, girl. I just know you. We spoke the same language. “Have you ever had to respond to a medical emergency on a plane?” Cathy inquired. “No. Never. And I fly a fair amount…” and as if on cue, the stewardess ran down the aisle past us with a terrified look on her face. Seconds later we heard overhead: “Is there any medical personnel on the plane?” She nudged me. I was sitting on the aisle. “Go!” she whispered. I hurried to the back and found a woman sweating and short of breath. To keep it short, she was fine. Since we were on the ground waiting to finish boarding, the medics came in and took her away quickly. (She as hypoglycemic.) I returned to my seat, and hand-to-God, it happened again. This time, the stewardess caught my eye as she dashed to the back as if to say, “C’mon. Here we go again.” This time, a young man overheated and hungry, feeling nauseous. He was taken away too. Cathy and I laughed, in the way that doctors can laugh between themselves, even when what is happening in real life is far from funny. It’s not a sign of disrespect. It’s how we guard our hearts from breaking daily.

By now we all knew, this plane might make it to MSP tonight, but I would miss the last flight to IND. The crew was over their hours and the plane needed maintenance. Grounded in DEN, we got off the plane. As I was standing in line to rebook on some circuitous route back to IND, Cathy came up to me and said, “You know, we only live 5 minutes from the airport. Get to Minneapolis tonight and just stay with us. We can drive you to the airport in the morning.” For reasons I still don’t understand, I immediately accepted this gracious offer from a total stranger. sister in medicine.

And so it would be. Cathy called her husband and asked him to put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room. She disclosed that they have two large dogs and confirmed that would be ok with me. (It’s ok). We made it to MSP very late that night and Cathy and I and her son, Tony, who carried my bag, hailed a taxi and went home. She gave me a glass of water and showed me to my room for the night. I have never slept so well in a new place. Ever.

In the morning, the dogs and the smell of fresh coffee woke me. I barely had my eyes open when Cathy’s husband greeted me with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper. We sat around their hearth room table chatting like old friends about the lake house and what color she should paint the walls. The kids going off to college. What to buy at the Farmer’s market that morning.

Cathy drove me to the airport and gave me a hug to send me off. My new friend. My dear friend. Oh, what comes to pass in twelve little hours…

Home safely just in time for my youngest son’s birthday party, I was a changed woman. I was (I still am) warm with joy and peace and thankfulness for the kindness of strangers. Who entertained me, protected me, welcomed me…in my time of need. What I know now is that there are good people in this world. There are kind and decent and honest and giving and loving people in this world, who may vote differently or worship differently. But they are good. I learned to stop a minute and get real, to let my heart hear Cathy’s heart. And it changed me. To want to see the wonder and the good and the precious and unique moments we can find ourselves in if we are willing. I will never be the same. Thank you, Cathy.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.