In the other room may be our brothers, or sisters, or mothers, or daddies,or children

21 Sep

I almost took a photo of me yesterday—namely my hair. How it swirled and sworled about my head most (un)becomingly. Of course, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I immediately thought of all of you and how you’d get a laugh out of it, but, I couldn’t find my camera and then my attention was drawn to something else and next I know, somehow, my hair re-arranged itself into something not as interesting. Dang.

Yesterday as I regaled you with Tales of the ER and my Angry Appendix, I was thinking about how nice everyone was. And they were all very personable; not a grouch or rude person in the bunch: Our western North Carolina Mountain People? I think it was a lot of that. I don’t have a lot of experience with ER’s or with hospitals—well, as a patient anyway—but, it sure seemed as if the people of Haywood County Regional Med Center were extra nice. I keep thinking of the man, who is either a nurse or some kind of ER medical attendant, and how he said at some point that his wife had died; somehow it came up in a conversation GMR, I, and the attendant had, the convo meant to help distract me from my writhing. When you are lying there in distress, sometimes you don’t look at people’s faces, because all your attention is directed to what is going on with your body. But I tried to look up at people’s faces because that’s how I record, not how they look, but what’s behind their eyes. Behind his eyes is sadness.

You know, I lay there writhing for over four hours waiting for that ER doc to just even peek in his head, but, what I kept thinking about was my brothers. My younger brother David was rushed to the ER in 1994 and he didn’t leave the hospital alive; actually, he probably didn’t arrive fully alive. Heart attack. They tried to save him; it was too late. My youngest brother Tommy (in the photo at a procedure he was having earlier this year) had a massive heart attack while in the ER several years ago. The Arlington, Texas hospital he was in worked on him feverishly until he was stable. So, while I lay there in the ER early Thursday morning, I kept imagining that in the next room or rooms were my brothers. I kept thinking that if I raised up a racket about my own stuff, someone would go fetch the ER doc and he’d come in to check up on me sooner than planned. And in the process of his doing that, what if “my brother” died or became much worse? What if there was a child in another room? Children need to be seen first because they are afraid and they’re small. The elderly who are weak. All of them are my brothers, that’s what I kept thinking.

So, when someone at the hospital asked why I didn’t scream and holler and demand attention for the ER doc to hurry up—it was because of my brothers. I had no way of knowing what was going on outside of my own little room, but having been to the emergency room with my brother Tommy when he had another heart attack (luckily, it was “minor” that time—although, no heart attack is minor to the one having it and his family), I know how much I wanted someone there Right Then, and the importance of their being there to make sure my brother was stable before they attended to those who may not be in the danger zone. Sure, if my appendix had ruptured, I’d have been more in danger, I suppose. But, it had not. Did not.

Well, y’all, I hope to stop by to visit you all soon. I see new “faces” visiting and I’d love to come by and say hi to you as well. I’ve been working hard on Secret Graces, as you that come by know my deadline is looming freight train fast, so that’s keeping me focused. As well, Angie Ledbetter and I are embroiled in the Rose & Thorn, new website, newsletter, et cetera. For those of you floating away in this rain we’re having, be safe! For those of you tucked in and dry, go outside and take a nice happy walk. Namaste.


12 Responses to “In the other room may be our brothers, or sisters, or mothers, or daddies,or children”

  1. Missy September 21, 2009 at 10:02 am #

    Only you could make an appendectomy appear comical! I am so glad that you are ok and on the mend. Rest up so you will get your strength back. XOXOXO

  2. Janna Qualman September 21, 2009 at 11:18 am #

    Through this post, and your mention of what others in other rooms may have been going through, I saw your tender heart. It's beautiful.

  3. Lazy Writer September 21, 2009 at 11:21 am #

    What a nice thought. We do need to keep in mind what's going on outside of our own trials–not just in the hospital, either.

  4. Jessica September 21, 2009 at 12:03 pm #

    What an interesting and kind way to think of others in the hospital. :-) I'm so glad you're okay.

  5. Sheila Deeth September 21, 2009 at 12:53 pm #

    Lovely piece, and very wise advice on how to wait.

  6. Patience-please September 21, 2009 at 1:05 pm #


  7. Analisa September 21, 2009 at 1:27 pm #

    What a wonderful lady you are to think beyond yourself in a time of pain and uncertainty. This post gave me two things. Watery eyes and a grateful heart. Peace and blessings.

  8. Titus September 21, 2009 at 2:54 pm #

    Scarily close to the bone for me at the moment. I was moved by this, and how true, how true.Hope the grumbling appendix shuts up soon.

  9. Linda Leschak September 21, 2009 at 5:37 pm #

    How powerful is that!? Not many would suffer that much pain and choose compassion as their strength. Namaste, indeed.

  10. Strange Fiction September 21, 2009 at 8:26 pm #

    'And in the flowing of your dress, undiscerning tenderness.' ~Rupert Brooke

  11. Deb Shucka September 22, 2009 at 9:23 am #

    You are an amazing woman. Namaste.

  12. Barry September 23, 2009 at 9:16 am #

    I will have to try to remember that thought, but there is nothing like a little pain to put the legitimate woes of others out of your mind (or at least my mind).

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