A Woman Named Judi

Most reference transactions are routine. A patron comes to the desk, asks me for Jodi Picoult's Change of Heart or for the credentials of a local cardiologist, receives his response, thanks me with a smile, and walks away. I'm glad that he has received the information that he needs, but the encounter is forgotten as soon as I assist other people. The patron remains nameless, even if I've just reserved a book for him. And when he visits the library again, I may recognize his face, but will most likely not recall his name or the question that I had assisted him with during his previous visit.

And my name almost certainly remains meaningless to him, despite the fact that my name is clearly labeled on my tag. It was a simple conversation in a day that, for the patron, is filled with other simple conversations as he completes the errands on his "to-do" list - the bank, the cleaners, the gas station.

But, like every librarian, I occasionally have an encounter that will not be forgotten. I wrote about such an experience in a much earlier entry, when I assisted a patron who needed to write an obituary for his wife. Today, it happened again.

The tearful voice on the other end of the telephone told me that her name was Judi. Her mother Rosie, a woman who was once full of life, had deteriorated significantly in the nursing home in which she had been living. The staff paid little attention to Rosie's physical and emotional needs. Judi's attempts to discharge her mother were denied. Judi requested the name and phone number of an organization to which she could file a complaint against the home whose inadequate care had led to her mother's needless suffering.

Judi's voice was more sorrowful than angry. She herself was, she continued, in a state: handicapped, arthritic - and dying of cancer. My desire to help her, and my distress of knowing that I could only do so much (I was only a librarian, after all; my job was to give Judi the phone number, not to follow through, not to be a friend, and not to ensure that her mother escaped her prison), made my compassion almost overwhelming - and I had to step back and remind myself of my role.

I gave Judi the phone number for the New Jersey Department of Health and Human Services. Thanking me profusely (much more than I deserved), she asked me to find a listing of states whose environments are beneficial for seniors and those who are ill. Judi's physician had strongly suggested that she leave New Jersey. This project will involve a bit more research than finding a phone number, and I told Judi that I would call her as soon as I had the information that she needed.

My work for Judi will continue.