Sometimes, there are moments I wish I could take back and do-over. Press life’s Rewind button.
Today, we went to the hospital to get the Boy’s stitches removed (he had minor surgery a few weeks ago and was in for a routine screen). I hate hospitals. Especially urgent care (emergency) rooms. They are creepy. A symbol of pain, heartbreak, stress. I’m one of those people who can walk into a room and instantly feel the emotion of the place. Emergency rooms are not zen, no matter how nicely they’re decorated or how many fun magazines there are on the tables. They make me instantly anxious, so much so that I feel nauseous.
There was a lady in front of us at check-in who was being helped out of a wheelchair. She must have been in her mid thirties and clearly in a lot of pain. Tears rolling down her eyes, she shuffled slowly into a room out of sight. My imagination started running wild with possibilities. What could have happened to her? Why is she here alone? Did someone hurt her? A few minutes later, she was asked to sit in the waiting room across from me (the Boy had gone in to see someone at this point and it was just me and her, with the TV blasting in the background). She looked away, ensuring I wouldn’t see her face and she sat there hunched over, clutching her stomach. I could hear her sobbing.
So much of me wanted to reach out to her and ask what was wrong. I was in agony for her. I could feel her pain from across the bright, lifeless room and I wanted so badly to touch her and give her whatever comfort I could provide. But another part of me feared getting too close. I feared that I was intruding on her privacy, I feared the possibility of being exposed to a world and life much less innocent and different from my own, I feared her pain. My heart was breaking. For her. And because I was so disappointed in myself for my own cowardice.
A few moments later, a nurse came by to give her some medicine and the Boy came out with a happy smile on his face. We could go now. Everything was fine.
Except that it was not.
The moment had passed.
Compassion and love could have been exchanged in that moment, in a time and place when they were needed most, but now the chance will be lost forever. It’s been a few hours now and I am still feeling ill from the experience. Terrible. I couldn’t find the courage to risk my own fears so that I could relieve the pain of another.
I hope the next time, I will be different. =(
{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
Dearest Den,
Next time, follow your heart… even if it ends up disappointing you (like getting a negative reaction from the other person). I think the key in a situation like this is to approach cautiously, ask if it’s OK to intrude and just show your concern. I would say majority of the time your positive intent will be appreciated.
For now, say a prayer for the lady. Let your angels take your message of love and concern for her and be at peace that she will be alright.
Thank you for sharing this experience. It is a reminder that everyday we should put effort and time to shower love, concern, understanding and support to others. We can start at home, with our own love ones, even if they seem to have a lot of it already.
Sending you and G lots of love, hugs and kisses.
BIG HUG!
Mama
Hi Denise,
It still amazes me how you put your thoughts into words. Felt kind of teary while reading your experience. I hated hospitals too. But my Mama made it such a wonderful experience for me because, almost comforting. She always kept her big smile despite so much pain. I’ve chosen the path of nursing. For the month and a half I’ve been around her and seen what life and death is, I overcame my fear of the hospital, especially the smell. It’s not fair cancer took my Mama away. And I’m left with an unanswerable question, “why her?” I saw her fight ’till her last breath, but there’s only so much doctor’s can do and then someone up there takes over.
You have such a big heart. Learn to let go and just reach out. When my Mama was in the hospital, she enjoyed the littlest things other people did for her. Thoughtful notes, fresh flowers, crying calls from your Mom, and most especially, SMILES.
I hope the boy is feeling better. I pray for good health and happy days.
Much love and warm hugs,
Tania
Tania, thank you for your note. It’s so touching. I can’t imagine how those weeks were with your Mom in the hospital. You have her unwavering strength. I can feel it. I think it’s very noble that you’ve chosen to take up nursing. I am always so amazed at how nurses are able to make such a difference in the lives of people. Their role is to comfort and choosing a vocation where you can give of yourself everyday is a real gift. People search their whole lives for purpose but I think as a nurse, that need to feel a hole isn’t there because you are already giving so much of yourself (something that we all want to be able to do, deep down inside).
I know that Tita Remi is with you always, in every moment. She lives in you. And though sometimes there are no answers or explanations in this world for things that happen, I think the best that we can do is to trust and live our lives to the fullest of our potential. Whenever I feel anxious or hopeless, I always remember one of my favourite poems:
“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” –Reinhold Niebuhr, The Serenity Prayer
Sending you lots of love Tania! A great big hug and kiss from across the miles.
Denise