For this next edition of Patients For a Moment (July 28th), hosted by Queen of Optimism on her blog, she presents the question:
“What is the nicest thing (or things) anyone has done for you since you became ill?”
I believe the nicest things that I’ve received from people since my health challenges hit me have been to offer me reality checks about humanity.
As difficult as they may feel at first, the comments, behaviors, choices and changes in our relationships have motivated me to respond in ways that have been outside of my comfort zone. That blundering through my fear, grief, anger, apprehension and surprise has built within me a sense of resiliency that I never knew possible. It has also led me to some surprising appreciations.
Those relationships that dissolve due to the loss of knowing which words to speak, or the ugly realization that their patience really DID have an end, offered me opportunities to see that all people are fallible. It has been easier, after some time passes, to run into these individuals (who walked out of my life or visa versa) and speak to them as fellow humans. These are simply honest people who may have made decisions that hurt me, but were decent enough to be upfront about it.
It has been the relationships with my medical teams that have given me moments of vulnerability as well as moments of gratitude. Beginning with my first practitioner’s refusal to acknowledge the necessity for a urine sample to my specialist’s decision to waive his fees in light of my difficult circumstances, I have learned much about the dimensions of medical care. The hospital’s response to my then insurance company’s act of betrayal showed me that they do have the capacity to care. The laughter and care of the staff, both at the labs or during my hospital stay, gifted me with moments of respite from the uncertainties I was facing. In fact, I was amazed at the commitment my medical team had shown during my hospital stay by keeping a toxic individual from threatening my chances of survival. It was through their security and protection that offered me time to bounce back from kidney failure by restricting their visits, for which I will always be grateful. As easy as it sometimes is to become frustrated with how our nation’s medical care falls short or how cold our doctors may seem during our 15-minute appointments, seeing the other side of those presumptions has pushed me to look beyond the white coats and clip boards. They live and breathe just like I do.
There have been individuals who have astonished me with their compassion and respect, even when they didn’t understand what was going on in my life. The mysterious food boxes left on my front porch without a note. The bills paid on my behalf without explanation or warning. Their cards, letters, phone calls and emails touched my hardened heart with grace and sincerity. Their well-intentioned, unsolicited questions and suggestions forced me to listen to reason through my veil of distrust and seclusion. Their understanding that they would never fully know what I was experiencing allowed me my time alone without explanation or apologies. They knew I needed the time to breathe and, when I felt I needed no one, they helped me to see how wrong I had been to hold onto my pride like a medal of honor. It was clearly more like a fortress of shame and was something that needed to be dismantled.
It is easy for us living with illness to see ourselves outside of a mainstream, assuming that those around us are generally healthy and live without pain. The fact is, our human bodies have the potential to break down in so many ways, some in plain view and some well disguised. As we physically hurt, those we share our days with also hurt. By not knowing how to fix things, what to say or where they can make the connection with us to show us how much they care. Those individuals who keep their distance or walk away are showing us their limitations and vulnerabilities, too. It hurts to realize we can’t do or must do the thing we sometimes need to do.
I’m learning to see beyond the actions and listen beyond the words in order to understand our shared human conditions. It isn’t always easy or instantly possible, but I’m getting better at recognizing limitations as simple realities.
It is in facing the walls or getting through the battles that do contribute to my story. It is the stories of others that help me keep my own story in perspective. The kindest thing that I feel anyone can do for me is to acknowledge my place here on earth as a part of a bigger story. I’ve learned that the essence of being human is exploring the complexities of the many characters living within our stories.
The struggles and villains make the story interesting. The perserverance to keep going makes it all worth the sharing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Visit Q and the rest of the participants at her blog carnival!
