Thoughts on Being Sick
My first thought is, of course, “I don’t want to be,” but beyond that…
I recently had a health issue that caused a couple of weeks of considerable discomfort followed by a brief hospital stay and medical procedure. The experience has brought a few things to mind.
Comparison is Pointless
I am relatively old, and while I’ve had a few health issues, most of those have been episodic rather than chronic, so overall I consider myself to be pretty healthy.
I know that my medical challenges don’t begin to compare to those of some family members, people I know or have known, and some who I follow on Medium. As a result, I tend to minimize my health problems. I think, “Who am I to complain about one ‘little’ health event?” The answer to that question is quite simple — I am me.
I don’t have to be the least healthy person on the face of the earth to deal with the fear and disorientation caused by health events. I don’t have to feel sheepish about mentioning my health issues given that others have worse issues. My issues are mine, my experience is mine, and it’s perfectly valid to feel what I feel and to express what I feel.
Measuring Pain
Another problem with comparison is that pain is entirely subjective. There is no way to know whether the pain I am feeling is the same as, or more or less than the pain someone else is feeling.
I was asked multiple times while dealing with my health issue to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I’ve always hated that question, both because there aren’t ten (or twenty, or thirty) levels of pain, and because I tend to choose lower numbers so that I don’t seem to be whining. It became apparent that answers of 5 or less put me in the “wait and see” category, while answers of 6 or more merited quick attention (e.g., “Go to the Emergency Department if your pain is 6 or more.”).
The arbitrary numeric pain scale is treated as an accurate, quantitative measure of pain. This is the case even though I expect that if asked, almost any healthcare professional would agree that the experience of pain is qualitative. Quantizing pain is convenient for setting up treatment guidelines, but it distorts reality.
The Incalculable Value of Kindness
I was only in the hospital (starting with the ED) for about 32 hours, but in that time I encountered some people who were so kind, so encouraging, and so spirit-lifting that I was (and am) moved to tears. As a transgender woman, I am always sensitive to how people relate to me. Several nurses and staff members went out of their way to show their acceptance of me as a woman.
The workers without initials after their names (i.e., not RNs or MDs) stand out the most in my experience. The man who pushed my gurney from the ED to my hospital room, and later from my hospital room to the surgery center, was amazingly cheerful, kind, positive, and accepting. The woman who drew my blood at 4:30 am was similarly good-humored and positive, and when I jokingly said she couldn’t draw my blood, she went into a quite funny monologue about the people who do refuse, or complain, when she tries to do her job.
I’ve long believed that a person’s primary goal in life should be to ease the burdens of other people. There are many ways to do that, including being cheerful when pushing gurneys around the hospital all day or when dealing with patients (and patients’ families) who don’t appreciate the important service being provided. Small acts of kindness count as much as big ones — they are valuable beyond words.
The Reality of Aging
The deterioration of my body due to wear and tear is going to become increasingly apparent. Each time I have a health issue, the immediate discomfort and fear are accompanied by a voice in the back of my mind saying “This is the beginning of the downhill slide.”
I can make changes to my level of activity and diet to slow the decline, but at my age, the years behind are much more than the years ahead, and the choices I made over all those years can’t all be corrected. I will experience my health declining, spend more time in clinics and hospitals, and face curtailment of my normal activities due to physical limitations. And I will do all of that fairly soon.
This doesn’t mean that I’m a depressed, fatalistic old person just waiting to die. I’m as happy or happier than ever and still face the future with optimism. I’m learning Spanish, writing, improving my skills in various crafts and activities, and becoming (at least slightly) more social. Still, there’s no denying what else the future holds, and that realization is always in the back of my mind. That’s just how life works.
Conclusion
The follow-up medical appointments are mostly finished, and I know that I am fortunate in many ways. My recent health issue could have been much worse or could have indicated worse underlying conditions. The whole thing spanned only a couple of weeks (increasing my compassion for sufferers of chronic illnesses). As a retiree, I can take whatever time I need to ease back into normal life (which, at its busiest, is much more relaxed than the life of a working person).
I would never say, and I don’t expect many others would say, that the “benefits” of illness (such as greater self-awareness and appreciation for others) outweigh the costs. Given the choice, I would without question have passed on the “opportunity” presented by my health issue. Still, since life disruptions — medical or otherwise — are inevitable, it’s reassuring to see that, at least sometimes, we can wrest some good out of the experience.
