Goodbye is a frequently spoken word in Mercy Ships. People come. You become Friends. Then they leave. It's very sad actually.
Dr. Ned and Dr. Paul were my neighbors for the past two weeks. They left for the states today. They were both older gentleman who I believe are retired at the moment.
Dr. Ned has a deep older man voice. When they first arrived, at 2 AM, it was heard quite loudly though our cabin walls. I am certain he had no idea we could hear him.
Someday I am going to write a book entitled "Honest, Clear, Communication." I think if everyone read it it might solve most of the worlds problems (*disclaimer* I don't actually think that )
In the spirit of that book, I was obligated to knock on the door the next day when the walls were talking and my roommate, who just worked night shift, was trying to sleep.
Anyone who has ever gone to a retreat or Coatsville with me is probably laughing right now. I promise I refrained from reading them the sleepers bill of rights.
Although there was great hesitation, I made a fist and knocked on the door. I plead my roommates case. The surgeons were so lovely. They had no idea we could hear them. They even apologized for the night before. I assured them it was no big deal.
Another problem solved by honest, clear, communication (wouldn't that be a great book?).
After that greeting, we became friends. I bought them some Liberian donut's. Dr. Ned proofread an article for me.
Our crew consists of people from all walks of life, of all ages, and from all over the world. An incessant stream of hello's and goodbye's.
It's like an international space station. Sort of (not really).