Lessons From A Hospital Bed

Chapter 1 — Learning Compassion

Of all of the places to find oneself at peace and connected, a hospital bed would be the last place I would have guessed. Yet there I was, along with several others, In rented hospital beds wedged into a small makeshift room in a wing lined with “Covid rooms” — so close that the suffering was palpable.

I’m in a non-covid room, my malady more mundane, and I am grateful for that.

I was reasonably certain that within a day or two I would be discharged with a positive prognosis. The future of my cohabitants was less certain.

My first night there I found myself irritated with needy patients, crying patients, angry patients, abusive patients. I was struck by the caretakers though. Not saints, just ordinary folk . Yet extraordinary in the sense that they made a conscious decision to be here, to serve, to heal. Ordinary in their exhaustion, ordinary in that their edges were showing. Extraordinary in that they showed up for work here, day in and day out, to serve despite the risks. Extraordinary in that everyday they rush into this metaphorical burning building.

Mr X, just a fabric curtain and a few feet away was particularly obnoxious all morning long, stuck in an angry storm of toxic emotion. Yet these providers cared for him with the same compassion they displayed with the rest of us. There may have been some mumbling under their breath, but they were “here” for him.

Later in the evening he had mellowed considerably, even became docile. His wife was allowed to be by his side. She was a balm, soothing the beast. She was a picture of patience, love, and caring, attending to all of his needs including bedpan duties without complaint. She did so with grace. Their conversation was sweet, filled with love and respect.

I reflect back to the morning when all I saw was mean and angry. His wife and his caretakers seemed to see deeper than I. I saw only skin deep, ready to label him as a troublemaker and move on.

That was my first glimpse of something incredible going on here, my first glimmer of a level of truth and empathy that I was unable/unwilling to conjure.

I’ve always been a pragmatist — if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it is a duck, plain and simple. The learning experience for me in this unlikely classroom was to look deeper and open my mind — consider that it might be a swan.

Chapter 2 — Loss

Last year I was primed for loss. Cancer consumed my brother, then Covid consumed A long time coworker of mine. He died of Covid only a few weeks ago leaving a wife and young daughter grief stricken. They would have to navigate the pandemic on their own. I guess that was a prelude to this epiphany.

Last night there were multiple codes called over the hospital intercom. My initial reaction was to conjure up a scene from a night time medical drama soap opera. Last night however, I took pause. Instead of thinking about the process, I wondered about the people. Was last night a major traumatic life event like my friend’s family experienced?

Did somebody’s loved one, wife, or husband, take a sharp turn into oblivion? Did somebody’s young son or daughter have their life inextricably jarred to its foundation? Did this event sever the very foundation of a family?

Chapter 3 Angels

Let me say this — I don’t believe in angels. That being said, there was a certain hospice worker who cared for my dad in his last days, her angelic presence reassured me that my dad was not alone. This warmed my heart. And now Mrs. X.

If she talks like an angel, and she acts like an angel …

Epilog Mrs. X

Mr X’s wife came over to use the communal sink that happened to be nearest my bed. I told her that her husband was lucky to have such a devoted person as her in his life. That sparked a short conversation in which she revealed the essence of love, devotion, and compassion. She told me that her mother had taught that to her. In that moment she taught that lesson to me. An invaluable lesson presented free of charge. I felt blessed.

Epilog Covid

As a non-medical person,I have absolutely no direct control over cancer. Regardless of what I do, cancer will continue to kill. Covid is different. I/We can help reduce the devastation that Covid is causing. I have chosen to be fully vaccinated to do my part.