Today was different. The funny thing is, this morning seemed like any other Tuesday morning. I woke up early feeling groggy, lethargic, and unmotivated and tried to snap myself out of it. I took a deep breath in and out, savoring my warm, soft bed for a couple more minutes. Then I stretched out, all the way through the tips of my fingers and the tips of my toes before crawling out of bed. There was a moment when I looked at myself in the mirror after washing my face when I hesitated. “It would be so much easier to go back to bed and not volunteer at the U of M hospital,” I thought. I almost didn’t go, but thankfully, I did.

When I walked through the sliding doors into the Mott’s Children’s Hospital I was immediately faced by an onslaught of guilt. How could I be dragging when I had the opportunity to help others who had every right to feel depressed? “However tired I am,” I thought, “I am going to have a warm, genuine smile on my face.” I am going to be outgoing and cheerful, damn it. Talking to myself actually helped, however ridiculous that may sound. But motivating, cheesy, self-talk can only do so much. It was one patient that made all the difference.

Volunteering at the University of Michigan hospital, I do different volunteering jobs but today I was working for the Patient Education Resource Center (PERC) in the cancer center. I take ipod touches around to both inpatients and outpatients. The ipods have music, internet access, games, and information about cancer that the patients may have and want to know more about. Taking these ipods around to patients I always wish there were more I could do. But sometimes these ipods are exactly what the patient needs. It’s a chance to forget or suppress the worry, pain, and anxiety they’re feeling. It’s an outlet.

I can remember looking at one of the many closed doors on the inpatient cancer floor and hesitating, wondering whether or not I should knock. There was a momentary battle between my outgoing, help others no matter what side and my introverted, I don’t feel at all comfortable meeting new people side but thankfully, my outgoing side won. I thought maybe there was a patient in there who wanted someone to talk to.

I took a deep breath before walking up to the door. When I knocked and heard a faint “come in” I poked my head in and smiled brightly at the thin, frail, man lying in the bed. I wish I could remember what his name was. It feels wrong to realize that he made a difference in your life and not even be able to remember his name. I do appreciate the difference he made though.

When I introduced myself and asked how he was doing all I got was a blank stare. When I get nervous I just keep talking so I took a couple breaths and tried again. I went off on my spiel about ipods and asked if he wanted to check one out and still, all I got was a blank stare. There was a moment where I felt a complete sense of helplessness mixed with a pinch of awkwardness and I simply stood there. There was almost a sense of relief in the silence when I accepted the blank look.

Then he spoke. Maybe he was simply waiting for more than a breath of silence in my nervous chatter. I could barely hear him and had to ask him to repeat himself several times before understanding. “Read this,” is what he was trying to say. He held out an envelope and excitedly looked on as I pulled out the card. When I had first walked into the room it had been hard for me to stomach how thin, frail, and tired he looked. But when this seventy year-old man gave me the card to read he didn’t look so tired or frail anymore. His eyes lit up and this made all the difference. I could still see the sick, old man lying in front of me but I also saw the man who got excited about new shoes or loved seeing his daughter’s face when he gave her something she actually liked for her birthday. I saw the person he was outside the hospital.

The card said dream on the front in rainbow colors. It was from the woman who made the colorful quilt that was lying on his bed. That one quilt somehow made that hospital room seem warmer, homier. This one gesture of kindness was all the man could talk about.  He kept saying how much he wished he could find out who she was so he could say thank you in person or at least send her a card. And even after I’d already read the card, three times, he kept asking me to read it again. When I tried to ask him for his personal information so I could check the ipod out to him he only tried to show me the card over and over.

But I couldn’t help but smile. His complete fixation on his gift was so endearing I felt bad trying to take his attention away from it. And his excitement and energy were infectious. When I was done checking out the ipod to him I really didn’t want to leave. I stalled, and stalled a little more. When I finally left I wanted to go back.

Whenever I’ve gone to volunteer at the University of Michigan Hospital I always wish I could do more. Always. When you apply to volunteer you have to go through an interview and go to an information session. In both of these they stress how to talk to patients or better put, how to listen. The thing is, so far in all my days of volunteering no one has wanted to talk or wanted me to listen. They’re appreciative that you’re taking the time to volunteer at the hospital but they don’t want to spill their life story or even ask you to sit with them. I almost wish they would.

This one man made me feel different. He made me feel like what I was doing at the hospital actually made a difference. He made me realize every act of kindness, however small, makes a difference. He was ecstatic because one woman simply set aside the time each week to make blankets for him and for other hospital patients as well. I wish she could see how grateful he was.

I will always remember him. I wish I could have done something else for him besides simply giving him an ipod.  This doesn’t begin to compare but right now, I’m silently thanking him.