Bad days tear me down. Maybe I should say moments instead.
My emotions are all over the place. One second, I’m smiling; the second after, I’m crying,
My hormones are also going crazy. I’m just bitching all the time. Maybe it’s because the nurses are weaving me off the heavy drugs, or maybe I’m just sick of the tubes that have been sticking out of my body for the past 12 days.
It’s no fun for anyone – mom and dad are probably so sick of me.
Get me this…
Grab that for me…
Take me here…
Do this… Do that…
Demands are flying left, right and center. It doesn’t stop.
The worst part of it all is having someone take me to the bathroom. I have the weakest bladder ever so I pee very often – this obviously doesn’t work in my favor when I have so many cords attached to me.
I also feel like a woman in menopause when I get hot flashes. I go to bed freezing cold, and I wake up drenched in my own sweat. It really is an issue.
But how dare I complain?! The woman in the room right next to me has been on oxygen for a month. Her cough radiates and echoes in my room. It sounds like a wet dog cough. The nurses say that she may not even make it.
There’s also another woman on the cardiovascular side of the hospital floor. She has no family with her. Her husband and her mother apparently don’t care. You can tell that this woman has a few loose screws but no one deserves to be unloved. I swear she looks exactly like Pennsatucky from Orange is the New Black, which is appropriate because we are in prison.
She wonders the halls at all hours looking for someone to talk to. She’s lonely.
She passes time by coloring children’s drawings. Her “art” hangs everywhere in the hospital. She gives them to them to the nurses, other patients, and even the cleaning women. She’s the Frida Khalo of UAB.
Her doctors don’t know what they’re going to do with her as yet. She may have open heart surgery, a heart transplant or some other crazy extreme. Her life hangs on uncertainty.
Again, how dare I complain?
Having such a major surgery and having no support is traumatizing. I cannot even imagine how she feels.
I make dad buy her flowers in the gift shop. I take them to her room, and she drowns in her own tears. I give her a tight squeeze and I leave her room sniffling. We shared a special moment.
There are three things this experience taught me:
- Don’t judge a book by it’s cover. Everyone goes through life experiences that shapes them to be who they are today. You don’t know what people have been through, so just keep an open heart and wide arms.
- I am so lucky to have the support I have. Even though mom, dad, and aunty Christine are the only three people with me, I have an army backing me up at both homes: Syracuse and Trinidad. It’s really important to connect to people who are going through a similar situation to you.
- If you can lend a shoulder to lean on, a smile to spread or a listening ear, it can make a huge difference in someone’s life.