Hospital-ity

“I hope your stay with us is short!” said the kind lady who took my insurance information, “This is not the best place to be!” But then she continued, “We try to take good care of you here, though.”
Indeed they do.

What makes the hospital “not the best place to be” is the interruption that it represents. We don’t wake up in the morning thinking, “I hope I get to go to the ER today!” Hospital stays interrupt what we think of as our normal day-to-day life. I cannot arrange to have the dryer repaired or the piano tuned. I cannot pick up my daughter from school. I cannot go buy the groceries. Instead, I must wait here. Wait for the pain killers to kick in that may soon make writing this blog entry impossible and reduce me to watching television or playing a video game while I wait for the doctor to return and tell me what (if anything) he sees on my CT scan.

Almost 3 years ago, I suffered a dissection in my vertebral artery – but I didn’t realize it.  I thought I had just pulled a muscle somehow.  About a week later, I had a stroke and ended up spending a week in this hospital. And, as far as life interruptions go, I will attest that the hospital was not the best place to be. My daughter was in preschool only 2 mornings a week, I had just taken on a couple of volunteer positions at the church, my husband I had theater tickets – I had a LIFE!!  But spiritually, the hospital was the very best place in the world to be.

Prior to that, I had only stayed overnight in a hospital one time: when my daughter was born. I hadn’t given the hospital very much thought, really. But sitting in the bed day after day, my brain too cloudy to even knit, I started slowly calculating – the number of people on my hall, on my floor, in the hospital – the hundreds and hundreds of people whose lives had been interrupted. Which is to say, hundreds and hundreds of cranky people in pain and wishing that they were somewhere else altogether. Hundreds and hundreds of people having the realization that they were not in control of their lives.  And moving in and among these patients – these people whose main purpose was now to wait to arrive at the indeterminate, ever moving target of getting back to whatever they were doing before – moving in and amongst the impatient and the trying to be patient and the somehow miraculously patient were the doctors and nurses and technicians – the people who had chosen to be here in the time of interruption, to welcome us to what felt like, and hopefully would not be, our Hotel California.

There was a tremendous grace in these people – generally cheerful without being chipper, everyone who worked here made it clear that they only wished to make me feel more comfortable, to encourage me, to give me the information to cope with what had just happened and to move forward.  Their love and dedication to us, their patients, was not dependent upon how difficult or easy we were, how cranky or agreeable.  We had not done anything to earn their devotion – we had simply shown up, and they gave us the best they had.  In hundreds and hundreds of rooms, every hour of the day.

So, without reference to the interruption that being in this place represents, without reference to the insistent beeping of the monitor in the room where I wait for my CT scan results, this is in fact one of the very BEST places on earth to be.  The hospital is a holy place – a place where love and care flow freely, and where any necessary indignity is accompanied by an apologetic smile and sympathetic humor.  I am surrounded by God’s grace.  And while I do hope that I do not stay here very long today (because I hope that they find nothing on the CT – I am hoping to hear that I have simply pulled a muscle rather than dissected my vertebral artery again), I am grateful that this place is here at the ready for each and every one of us who found ourselves needing the care that the staff so graciously provides.

2 responses

  1. I just realized who you were when I clicked on your screen name 🙂 I will follow your blog as well. Thanks for your kind words in the letter that you sent to us. I have an idea I’d like to share with you if you want to email me. alinarussell@msn.com

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