Originally posted on Infectiously Optimistic
Beep.....Beep......Beep......Beep.......
Thursday evening, a thin partitioning sheet separated my gurney from the gurney just a foot from mine. My neighboring hospital bed was empty upon my admittance to the Emergency Department, but a few hours into my stay, I watched the shadow of a new patient settle in, and listened to the worried voice of their accompanying loved one, intermittently interrupted by the intrusive sounds of inflating blood pressure cuffs and beeping machines. As the triage nurse brushed by the curtain separating us, the sheet rippled as it caught the air of the nurse’s brisk wake, and for a fleeting moment I was able to harbor a glimpse of the two beside me. The patient laying in the hospital bed was a pale elderly woman, her silver-haired husband sitting in a chair by her side. As time elapsed, she was wheeled in and out of the area for a number of tests, her husband always shuffling in tow of her traveling bed. Eventually, the couple was visited by neurologist clad in a crisp white overcoat, who informed the elderly woman that she had suffered a small stroke. She had lost the use of one of her arms, but she’d be treated and monitored, and she’d be okay. The doctor proceeded to educate the couple about the further neurological testing that would be required and the rehabilitation that would ensue in the following weeks as they tried to help her regain her strength and the use of her impaired limb. I listened to the thick silence as the news sunk in. Finally, the woman replied:
“But how will I do my hair?”
I imagined that she was referring to her inability to use the arm that she naturally relied on. I listened for her husband’s response. To my surprise, I almost sensed a smile behind the tone of his voice. I watched the shadow of his raised hand as he lifted it to gently pat his wife on the top of the head.
“Oh honey, I’ll brush your hair. I’ll put your curlers in for you too.”
Now that's love.
Thursday evening, a thin partitioning sheet separated my gurney from the gurney just a foot from mine. My neighboring hospital bed was empty upon my admittance to the Emergency Department, but a few hours into my stay, I watched the shadow of a new patient settle in, and listened to the worried voice of their accompanying loved one, intermittently interrupted by the intrusive sounds of inflating blood pressure cuffs and beeping machines. As the triage nurse brushed by the curtain separating us, the sheet rippled as it caught the air of the nurse’s brisk wake, and for a fleeting moment I was able to harbor a glimpse of the two beside me. The patient laying in the hospital bed was a pale elderly woman, her silver-haired husband sitting in a chair by her side. As time elapsed, she was wheeled in and out of the area for a number of tests, her husband always shuffling in tow of her traveling bed. Eventually, the couple was visited by neurologist clad in a crisp white overcoat, who informed the elderly woman that she had suffered a small stroke. She had lost the use of one of her arms, but she’d be treated and monitored, and she’d be okay. The doctor proceeded to educate the couple about the further neurological testing that would be required and the rehabilitation that would ensue in the following weeks as they tried to help her regain her strength and the use of her impaired limb. I listened to the thick silence as the news sunk in. Finally, the woman replied:
“But how will I do my hair?”
I imagined that she was referring to her inability to use the arm that she naturally relied on. I listened for her husband’s response. To my surprise, I almost sensed a smile behind the tone of his voice. I watched the shadow of his raised hand as he lifted it to gently pat his wife on the top of the head.
“Oh honey, I’ll brush your hair. I’ll put your curlers in for you too.”
Now that's love.
2 SpiroChicks or SpiroDudes Left Comments:
this brought tears to my eyes. you've perfectly described how illness has affected my life - the good, bad and the ugly. thank you for putting this into words so beautifully. I've shared this with several friends already.
Candice,
So poignant. Without having been ill, I wouldn't have been able to have witnessed my husbands capacity for love and loyalty.
I would love to post this to gratitude365.
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