If there was one thing that I am taking from this experience, it is the beauty and necessity of dignity. When I first arrived at the hospital, I was completely helpless. I could not lift my hand to drink water. I could not dress or bathe myself. I could not cover myself with a blanket if I was cold. I was entirely at the whim of my caregivers...and I was fine with it. My body was so badly broken that I found comfort in being cared for. I felt valued. I began to bask in the needed attention that I was being given- until I grew stronger.
As soon as I happened upon the Rehab Ward, I realized that I had been given the green light to try. As I wheeled through the halls and glanced at the state of my neighbors, I soon realized that I was the youngest patient here. I saw the feeble wrinkled bodies of my peers. I saw where the atrophies of life had taken their toll. I realized that I was far from where I believed many of these individuals were- at a place of giving up...maybe even at a place of being ready and willing to die.
If I was to survive at all in an environment like this, I knew I had to set my heart and mind like flint in the direction of health and healing. I intrinsically vowed that everyday that I found myself to be here, I would give 100% until I was ready to go home.
As the days went by, I watched as the tasks that I had to complete went from the status’ of needing assistance, to me being able to complete the tasks with full independence. I passed challenges of eating, grooming, toileting, getting dressed and bathing. I overcame my fear of scalpels and going to the bathroom alone.
As these milestones occurred, I also noticed that I began to be treated differently. I became less of a patient, and more of a counterpart to the staff on the floor. They began to open up to me- sharing stories of their personal lives and hobbies. They shares stories of their dreams and ambitions, families and deepest sorrows. I was entrusted with hearts and was able to take a glimpse into the souls of these caregivers beyond their badges and titles. I felt human again. I felt like a traveller amongst friends.
I recall a time in this very same hospital, many years ago, when these pleasantries would have never been afforded to me. I had MRSA in my blood and found myself to be ostracized in a small wing of the hospital where patients recovered from hysterectomies.
I had recently given birth to my oldest son at 24 weeks gestation, and he was fighting for his life in the NICU. Little did he know that I too was fighting for mine. The strongest medicines the hospital were not working for me. I broke out in a painful rash on my body. I had many fevers, sometimes to 104 degrees and my husband was constantly fighting to advocate for my care.
There was even a time where I would call the nurses for help, and although a cheery voice came on the line, promising assistance, or a meal, no one would ever come. I was in that place for a month. I felt like a prisoner in this very hospital. I remember telling God that I never wanted to come back. I had been completely stripped of my dignity and did not get it back until I was well again.
Fast forward to the present. The differences between then and now are like those of the night and day, but something happened last night that brought me back to that desperate place.
It was late in the evening, and I was hungry. I recalled how the nurses told me that since I was independent, I was able to check myself off of the floor and go get food, coffee or go shopping within the facility if I desired to. I was closer to going home, so i thought an independent outing would be a wonderful opportunity for me to prepare for “life on the outside.”
I checked myself out, and kindly declined a nurse to escort me. I would be fine. I rolled down the halls and could feel the chill of the night on my skin and in my heart. I was happy to be able to have a nice meal...but I was missing home.
I waited for 10 minutes in line and mentally chose what I would be ordering. Finally it was my turn to order. The woman behind the counter looked down at me and smiled. As her smile faded, she said these words, “Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t serve patients here.”
It was a simple phrase, but I was instantly crushed. In all my striving for independence, and the accolades of achievement, I couldn’t even order a sandwich for dinner. I figured it was because of dietary restrictions of patients there, but I couldn’t stop the tears.
I wheeled down the hall, hiding my face and tried the find the nearest bathroom. I spotted one, but the door was too heavy. Handicap accessible my butt! I rammed my wheelchair into the opening of the door until I could pass through. Immediately, there was another obstacle. I finally cleared it and retreated into the largest stall I could find.
I closed the door and just balled. I could feel my shoulders heaving from the deep sorrow that I felt in my heart. I yelled at the ceiling and told God how unfair this was. I told Him how frustrated I was. It was then that I decided that I wanted to go home. This was how I felt in that lonely ward so many years ago. Helpless and defeated. Broken and alone. I slammed my fist at the wall in anger and then I stopped... I suddenly realized that this time, something was different.
I didn’t want to put myself into an internal prison. I had worked so hard, why stop now? I said aloud “I refuse to partner with the lie of rejection. I am not rejected. This is just the policy of the hospital.” I immediately began to feel better. Why? Because I changed my mind. I changed the course of where the night could go. I had the opportunity to choose if I was going to cry myself to sleep that night or if I was to overcome. It was time to overcome.
I left the stall behind and wheeled myself to the door. A stranger on the other side opened it up and smiled at me, saving me from the drudgery of the task. I nodded and went back to my floor feeling a little lighter.
After checking in with my nurse, I came back to my room. Others soon found out what had happened and offered to go and buy a sandwich for me. I thanked them for their regard, but was more than ready to turn in for the night. Their kindness reminded me that I was once again among friends.
What a tough lesson to learn when you face difficult situations! It’s amazing how painful or unexpected experiences can trigger feelings of the past. It was up to me to determine what I was going to do with them. That simple experience is a part of me overcoming my past and the challenges of the present. It was a part of me becoming stronger.
Today I choose to delight in the dignity that has been so graciously given to me. I will remember who I am and not shrink back to a place of weakness and defeat. If you ever find yourself where I was last night, I encourage you to do the same. Embrace bravery and bless everyone you meet with the gift of dignity.
Love,
-Mel
