Resilience

Occasionally a gray, rainy day such as this one is comforting.  It puts us in a mood to cuddle up on the couch and watch some TV, sip on a hot drink and take the opportunity to just retreat from the busyness of our typical tasks.  The damp and dreary weather somehow convinces us to take a much-needed rest. Yet this change in weather goes largely unnoticed by others.

There are those among us that are sitting or reclining in a hospital room unaware of the change in weather.  Their days are not differentiated by the changing climes.  Their days are timed by the routine of nurses checking their IVs, measuring pulse, blood pressures and temperatures.  It’s not the sun nor rain the keeps the beat of the day, it’s the pain and other symptoms of the disease that provide the meter of life.

It’s hard to describe the hospital stay, the monotony interrupted by frustration that accompanies the chronically ill.  There is a lot of waiting around.  Waiting for doctors to come to discuss the latest results and observations. Waiting for the next meal to arrive. Waiting for the nurse to get to the room.  Sure, you understand the staff is usually completely overworked, and you try to be patient.  Which is kind of funny… you need to be a patient patient.  You hopefully have someone with you, most likely your overwhelmed significant other, to help you remember what questions you wanted to ask of whichever specialist comes to the room. In between these visits you turn the channel and look for a better show; maybe Deadliest Catch is on, or Alaskan Bush People.  You look for the interesting and the bizarre and those two shows fit the bill to help distract you from the reality of being in the hospital.

If you’re really fortunate you might get a visitor or two.  That often depends on how far from home you had to go to receive the care you need.  The further from home you are, the less likely you’ll have a stream of friends and family to distract you from the sameness of the four walls and staff.  Those visits are fantastic, even if you doze off while talking.  Your friends and family will usually understand, and hey, sometimes just the knowledge of additional people around is enough to help you relax just enough to close your eyes.

It’s those distractions that keep us sane, or at least helps us to know we’re not alone. The additional bonus is that there’s someone that can provide relief for the husband or wife.  It’s the husband or wife that deals with the frustration, anger and fear more than anyone else.  It’s the significant other that can tell just how we’re feeling, because sometimes we don’t even fully know ourselves.

Most don’t understand the mental strain that goes on during the acute phases in the hospital.  When surgery or other aspects of your disease progression put you in the position to rely on help for basic bodily functions you end up checking your pride at the door. It’s a tough pill to swallow, much harder than the so called “horse pill” you’re asked to down.  Only your most intimate partner in life is supposed to see you in all your natural splendor, so when the young nurse is now there to help you – well let’s just admit there’s some apprehension for a minute or two.  That’s not the only mental strain though.

If you are dying or think you might be, there are thoughts that you battle and a dark humor often becomes evident.  You start thinking about what life is going to be like for your wife (husband or other) when you’re gone.  You might even tell her who she’s going to fall for next.  That intelligent, talented distant friend of yours might just be ‘the one’ for her.  Of course your wife then says “who.. Bill,, oh please, no way!”  To which you silently think, “yeah, that’s what she says now.” 

 Then the Alaskan Bush people comes back on and pulls you out of the momentary realization that life in this realm is not forever – whether you recover or not, you’ll be changed in ways that not everyone can fully understand.  Not everyone has had the reason to pray “God, not matter what happens to me, please take care of my family.” If like me you wake from that prayer with more time to explore this magical world, there will be moments when you have to stop and slow down.  You look at your wife a little more closely, you want to see your colleagues succeed, you look at the flowers and bees deliberately.  Please understand I say there are these moments, because if you are fortunate to recover there is the fall to complacency where you again take things for granted.

The diagnosis of a friend or family member with prognoses that are difficult cause you to pause and ponder life and circumstances again.  Again, you are reminded that life isn’t fair and bad things happen to good people. Maybe it’s better to simply say it like it is.. “shit happens.”

I would never say there’s a silver lining, or that something good came out of something tragic.  I can, however, see how strong the human spirit can be.  I bear witness to the remarkable resilience of the human body and the compassion of those that provide caring – whether that’s in a professional capacity or personal.

Today, as I sit here on my couch, safe from the rain, wind and clouds I am thinking of my cousin and his incredible wife.  I know the monotony and frustration you feel while waiting in a small hospital room and I pray you’re home as soon as safely possible. And let me say again that I’ve never seen any stronger than the two of you as you fight on together.

I know too, that there are countless others, maybe some reading this post, that are going through your own torment. I’ll be praying for you all as well, God will know your plight.  If you would like, send me a message, I’d be glad to listen and pray specifically for you.

Prayers and Blessings to you all.

Brian