Do you ever feel like you know it all? Ever feel like, yeah, I’ve learned enough and I can just sit back and watch everybody else figure it out now? Me either. There are times, however, when I feel like I do have an idea of what is what and how things should be. These thoughts don’t happen often, and usually don’t stay long, but I relish in the innocent naive-ness of them.
I’ve spent some time in the hospital lately. It hasn’t been for my own health, but rather for those I care for. My Dear Grandmother had a short stay before she passed in December. I was able to visit her a few times before she left us for the great quilting bee in the sky. She was a beautiful, caring, funny lady til the end (or beginning….tomato, tomatoh). She never wanted to put anyone out or be a burden in any way. She was one of the most self-reliant people I have ever met. I didn’t realize just how independent and capable she was until lately. She was a small woman, especially in my Grandfather’s shadow. I guess it just goes to show that size isn’t everything.
Being in hospitals is not my favorite thing. I haven’t always had the best luck within those sterile walls. It took me a few years after Brad died before I could enter one without feeling like I was going to hyperventilate. Being able to witness the birth of my grandson went a long way to mend relations between me and hospitals.
When I went back to school, a financial aid adviser suggested I go into the medial field. I laughed in his face…in a nice way….and told him I didn’t have the right kind of compassion to help sick people. I would be rude and not caring and drive people to tears. That is what I thought at the time.
Last night I went to visit a friend at the hospital. He was in the purgatorial waiting room, ticket in hand, waiting with the various others people sent their by karma. I was dropping off to sleep when a tiny, crumpled woman was wheeled through the doors. I have no idea what was wrong with her, but she was wailing like a wounded animal. Crying out for every known deity to help her because she was hurting so bad. I watched as the woman behind the counter pushed paperwork towards the man pushing the wheelchair. She didn’t seem to move any faster than she had with the other, non wailing patients. No one rushed out to see why the woman was crying. The man pushing simply pushed.
I realized at that moment the real reason I didn’t go into the medical field. It wasn’t because I didn’t have compassion, it was because I have too much. All I wanted to do was to go over to the woman and help her. I wanted to shout at the nurses to move faster, to take her pain, fix her, make her stop crying. It was all I could do to sit and keep to myself.
I looked around the room at the other waiters. Some were oblivious to the crying. Some were looking and snickering to each other. One woman picked up her young son and moved where they wouldn’t see the event. A man came in with a pizza delivery. Business as usual.
What happens to nurses? Maybe they have to harden themselves to keep from being constantly torn apart by the pain of others. Maybe they don’t care and it’s just routine to them. Maybe they had seen this woman many times before and knew she was faking. Maybe inside they were screaming out for her, wishing they could help, but knowing they had to follow ‘procedure’.
All I know is, I am glad I didn’t go into that field. I do care about people and it hurts me to see anyone in pain. Maybe that is another reason for my bubble. The world has too much pain and suffering in it and I just can’t take it.
Cause I said so.
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