STAY WELL & SPARKLE: Come, O Come

In those days, hand-delivered telegrams cost an arm and a leg. Even the better off had to economize. And so it was, that one of Dominica’s distinguished future leaders studying in Canada had to make an urgent appeal to his illustrious father.

“Funds gone.

Need mon.

Your son.”

His request for another cash infusion met with this terse response.

“So sad.

Too bad.

Your Dad.”

I cannot vouch for the veracity of that iconic exchange. How I buy it, is so I sell it! All I can say is that from my own experience, I could feel his pain. Students away from home have this universal need. It is a need more so for connectedness, especially in the midst of the most festive of seasons.

Christmas 1980 drew near like a great, dark, foreboding cloud. It was my first year in medical school, Howard University, Washington DC. I shared a rat-infested, old wooden house with three poor American students from New York, Pennsylvania and Virginia. We had toughed out our first semester together. And by golly, we were going to make it to the end together! Maybe they just assumed that I had somewhere to go. Or maybe I had just been too bashful to communicate I had no plans for the holidays. Nevertheless, as soon as exams were over, in a flash, they were off to their respective homes.

With less than $300 on hand, I had been obsessing about how I was going to afford the next semester. Suddenly, I was seized with dread over more immediate concerns. The words of a particular carol haunted me:

O come , O come, Emmanuel

And ransom captive Israel,

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

…lonely exile here…lonely exile here…lonely exile here…

Have you ever felt a radio DJ was talking directly to you? Yeah, that’s their bread and butter, I know; their professional skill. But this was too much. His words seemed to have my name written all over them. He referenced some study about how the rate of suicide escalates during the holiday season. He went on to describe how depression was magnified in the context of so much tinsel and twinkling lights, crowds of giddy people bearing big shopping bags crammed with treats and gifts galore. Sounds of the season served also to deepen inner gloom.

I thought about how back home things would be all scrubbed, and decorated. Maybe there was new linoleum, new curtains, new outfits, some new appliance. Pigs and other livestock grew nervous. Prying pairs of little eyes were on the lookout for Santa’s secret early deliveries. All the while the older kids would insist on that strict party line: presents came only aboard Rudolph’s magic ride from the North Pole. The fruits would have been soaking in wine for weeks, subject to nighttime raids of course. Then we would help beat the batter and earn the privilege of licking the bowl – one finger swipe at a time. Aromas of Christmas baking both whetted our appetites and stirred our restless anticipation at the same time.

The DJ’s voice jerked me back to my sorry disposition. Well Mister, I for one have no intention of hurting myself. No way Jose! How could you even ask forgiveness for such a sin? But I had to admit. I was definitely moping around big time. Airmail letters took two weeks to arrive, packages even longer. Before Skype and magicJack, one had to budget that telephone call for Christmas and/or New Years Day itself. An occasional break in the melancholy came when I’d fling a shoe at one of my scurrying furry friends helping themselves to my measly box of groceries. “If you’re by yourself for the holidays,” the DJ insisted, “Find yourself with some family or friend. Don’t stay there by yourself. It doesn’t matter who. It doesn’t matter where…”

Wow! How did he know? Okay, Okay. I get it; but where? And how? Did I just talk back to the radio? Was I losing it? Thanks Mr. DJ. I don’t know where you get your material from, but you sure moved one island boy to action. Ironically, I would later learn of loads of close family friends right there in the DC area who would have loved to invite me over. Anyway, I scoured my address book and discovered the nearest relatives were three aunts in Ottawa. I picked up the phone. Before I could come close to asking, they said come. But next semester… Forget it. Jehoveh Jireh. The Lord’s our provider. Come now.

It was minus 53 degrees upon landing in Ottawa. My breath froze in the biting cold. Fwaydee, garcon! Shouldn’t I have been heading south instead of further north? As fate would have it, their car would not start. “Pop open the hood,” I instructed. I was the guy. I was going to figure it out. I was going to fix it. Never mind I hardly knew the difference between a radiator and a spark plug.

Hmmmm. As I leaned over studying the engine, my hands stuck fast to the car. “Ailas! Poor baby. How come we didn’t notice you don’t have gloves?” They feverishly worked my hands loose without somehow ripping the skin. They rushed me into the airport family washroom. Auntie Tama, Auntie Ezra, Auntie Bertillia, all soothing my frosty hands under the wonderful warm water.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

I remember little of the magnificent church services, the great food, nice gifts and good times with extended family I’d never met before.  All pale in comparison to that very first moment in Ottawa. That was the moment I truly appreciated the essence of the season. That was the moment I felt accepted in the beloved. To this day, that more than anything else inspires me to remember those who are left out. Maybe you have never been tortured by having to listen to Sparrow’s ‘Home for the Holidays’ on foreign soil. We often have little idea what some people are going through…especially the students who have no means to travel.

Dr. Sam Christian is a surgeon who runs the Urgent Care on 137 Bath Road. It offers general medical care, office surgery, acupuncture and microdermabrasion. He hosts a radio health show, is Medical Adviser to the Dominica Cancer Society and author of the faith and fitness nutrition book, ‘Mannafast Miracle.’ Dr. Christian can be reached at 440-9133 or by writing to [email protected].