A kind word should not be withheld

It just so happened that this recent phase of my life has started to feel like a really good action movie.

If I were a viewer of my own life, watching the past few weeks from the outside—
I wouldn’t be yawning.

Because every day, the plot of the movie called “life”
has been twisting and turning like a roller coaster.

I’ve been everywhere and everything.
From someone choosing flooring in a tile shop
to a worried mom
in the emergency room.

But it just so happened that last Thursday,
after a “super-duper” short night of sleep
and a “turbo-powered” intense day preparing the first collection at the boutique,
My and I ended up in the ER.

And even though the original plan was
to come home with a can of condensed milk
and some “Gaidelis” biscuits,
prepare goods for tomorrow’s Kaziukas fair,
and then collapse into bed without a trace of life—

circumstances lined up differently.

Soon enough, with wide, frightened eyes
and holding My close in my arms,
I was sitting in the emergency waiting room.

No more fatigue.
No more lack of sleep.
No thoughts about unfinished Kaziukas goods left at home.

Just one single wish—
that My would be okay.

“Hello, Mykolas,” a young doctor walks into the room,
“I’m Mykolas too,” he smiles.

And although our Mykolas responds to this sweet coincidence
with even louder dissatisfaction,
the doctor examines him with such genuine care.

Then he lays out a plan for tests
and explains everything to us in detail.
And promises to be back soon.

The nurse who admitted us keeps peeking into the room,
wrapping us in such motherly care.

“Shall I bring some water?” she asks.
“Maybe a blanket?” she offers.

Eventually she comes back with our outdoor clothes from the waiting room
and hangs them in the room:
“Just in case,” she says, “so they don’t get lost.”

Later they come to take blood.
With such care and responsibility
she searches for a vein in that tiny hand:

“Just let me get it right… so it won’t hurt,”
she says, gently stroking My’s hand.

Finally, the doctor returns with the results.
Pulling a chair closer to us,
without a pile of papers,
without rushing to fill forms or stamp anything,

he explains everything about the virus My caught
in completely human, understandable language.

So warm.
So simple.
So sincere.

We leave the hospital
at midnight.

No more fear in our eyes.
No trembling hands.
No heart dropped into our heels.

At half past twelve, after putting My to sleep,
I return to finishing the last touches
of the goods for tomorrow’s Kaziukas—
things the already half-asleep shop assistant couldn’t finish.

And while packing pieces of “tinginys” into bags,
I feel myself smiling.

Maybe a little from exhaustion.
Maybe a little because the anxiety
that had grown to elephant size suddenly faded.

Or maybe from touching that feeling again—
that kindness hasn’t disappeared.

It lives here. Right next to us.
And people truly care about people.
Not formally.
But sincerely.

Thank you to the Santariškės Children’s Emergency Department staff
for every time in life I’ve had to visit with all my “treasures.”

Each time I leave with the same feeling in my heart.

A continuation of the story?
Yes!

All good action movies usually have more than one part.

At the end of Part I of my action movie,
the screen should fade to black
and the doctor’s words appear:

“Observe. If anything—come back.”

And the classic cliffhanger:
TO BE CONTINUED 🙂

Stay healthy.
And if you do get sick—
be grateful that in our country
there is sincere help from doctors who love what they do.

They heal with their hearts.

Mua,
V.