The (not so)
Good Samaritan
By Damian Burrow
Like many, I had lost all my
confidence after my laryngectomy.
I couldn’t speak to strangers.
Walking down the street, I prayed
no one would stop and ask me
for directions or the time. It was
especially awkward in a cold
Scottish winter. Talking involved
taking off a glove, unzipping my
coat and squeezing my hand
under my scarf in order to cover
my stoma.
Now, after two years, I use a hands
free system and happily talk to
shop assistants and strangers on
the street. I even forget I am a lary,
well almost. However, recently
I ran into a communication
problem.
I had popped out to the shops and
saw an old lady waiting at a bus
stop, but the road was closed on
this side because of road works,
so the bus stop wasn’t in use. I
tried to tell her but it was too noisy
because of the pneumatic drill.
“Excuse me”
“Eh?”
“Excuse me”
She was almost deaf. I told her
once, twice. I lost count how
many times. I looked around for
someone else to help me but there
was no one around. I still kept on
trying. Pointed to the sign. She
agreed the weather was lovely for
this time of year.
I couldn’t wait forever as I had left
a roast in the oven so I waved the
internationally accepted ‘goodbye’.
And she gave me a gumless smile.
Bless. I had probably made her
day as someone had stopped and
said hello and then goodbye to
her... but why did I feel so guilty at
leaving her waiting for a bus that
would never come?
At home I couldn’t stop thinking
about her so I hoped her sight was
better than her hearing. Bearing
in mind my writing is terrible, I
printed out a message in large
letters, turned down the oven and
locked the door behind me. I got
back to the bus stop and she had
gone. Where had she gone? Had
she just been having a rest? Had
another a good Samaritan helped
her? I’ll never know. ?
Summer 2013 | THE VOICE
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