The Doctor Is In

About a month ago, I got an e-mail from my neighbor across the street. He had attached a few pictures, and asked would I please look at them and give him my honest opinion as to whether or not his house was falling down. The photos were of some cracks in the concrete slab in his family room. He also had a concern about some squeeky subfloor upstairs.

It so happens that he and I live in the same model house, and I have cracks and squeeks identical to his. I went over and paid a house call, looked at everything, and pronounced the house in no mortal danger; a diagnosis at which (more on that later) my neighbor was greatly relieved.

I wondered to myself afterwards how anyone could look at those things and be worried, since they were pretty simple signs of a middle aged house to me. The more I thought about it though, that didn't seem fair. I mean, I've been tearing houses apart for over twenty years, and that certainly informs any opinions I have. I'm not sure I was ever taught in a formal way how to look at something and tell whether or not it's serious......after all these years, I just know.

When I put myself in my neighbor's shoes (or any of my clients, for that matter), I realize that things which seem patently obvious to me are anything but to them. I'm guilty of occasionally lapsing into "contractor speak" and being maybe a little glib at times, and this encounter with my neighbor made me realize that a little bit more. This was brought home to me in a more pointed way the other day.

When my family and I were at the beach last week, I sprained my ankle....nothing too bad, just a little sore. Anyway, the other day, I was sitting at my desk....doing nothing really, and all of a sudden, my ankle began to hurt like hell, WAY more than it had before. I mean, it hurt to a point that walking was not easy to do.

My wife, bless her, kept saying I needed to get it looked at, and I kept saying "Stop worrying, I'll be fine....jeez." In the back of my mind though, I was a little worried; not that I would tell my wife that.

We went out to dinner that evening, the ankle still hurting, and as we came home and pulled up to our house, my wife turned not into our driveway, but our neighbor's.....he of the squeeky floors and cracked concrete. My neighbor, you see, is a trauma doc.

He may not know everything about houses (that's my job, after all), but he does know about things that get twisted, mangled and broken.

I limped up to his front door and rang the bell. My neighbor sat me down, poked and prodded a little bit, told me to wrap the ankle, ice it, stay off it as much as possible, take 800mg. of ibuprofen, and go see someone if it didn't feel better in a few days. Bing-Bang-Boom. No big deal. A diagnosis at which it was my turn to be greatly relieved. Just to make sure though, he rang my doorbell the next morning to check on "his patient". You can't buy neighbors like that.

We all have our purpose in life. I am grateful to live in a place where I know and truly like my neighbor (and neighbors), and where my purpose and his can cross paths......and give me a little more perspective!

Thanks, Doc!