Granny says I have healing hands.
I doubt she know how much that – seemingly a casual observation – means to me in this no-man’s land between starting and finishing medical education.
Growing up, I would rub her feet, paint her toenails, massage her shoulders. Perhaps when she said then, “Oh, you should become a physiotherapist,” she planted the first seeds of med school.
I rubbed her feet the other day. Tired from gardening, Christmas shopping, looking after her frail cat; and she says,
“Oh, this is wonderful. Do you do this for your patients too?”
“Patients? No, no. I only do this for special people like you.”