It happens this way …
I used to hate hospitals. When I was in sixth grade, I fractured an ankle while ice skating on Woodbridge pond on New Year’s Eve. I walked about a half mile on it before an aunt and uncle, who were on their way to pick me up on this bitter cold day, found me and got me to a hospital.
Image spending a week in a hospital bed waiting for swelling to go down before the ankle could be casted. I don’t think insurance companies would allow that today.
Anyway, after a week in the children’s ward where I learned how to master a bedpan, I went home. Because our elementary school didn’t have wheelchair access – it was the ‘50s – I stayed home for six weeks and developed a “nervous stomach” because I was missing school. (Over-achiever back then!) It took until sophomore year in high school not to get sick before taking tests.
And it took decades to get over my aversion to hospitals. So yesterday’s trip to Portland’s Adventist Medical Center for minor hand surgery was a delightful adventure. Between the time I arrived at 6:30 a.m. to register and left at 1:20 p.m., I met sixteen staffers and gathered a number of great stories. (Hey, writers find material wherever, right?)
One of my favorites was the young Seventh Day Adventist Chaplin – 2O’s, tall, slender, trimmed beard, cute – I met early on. A near-by nurse shared he was pining over a beautiful ER doctor and didn’t know how to approach her. On the spot we concocted a fantasy scenario: I would go outside, feign a heart attack, go to the ER, and ask for a Chaplin. Sounded good!
Since we had made this fun connection, when he arrived at my bedside before surgery and asked me if I wanted to pray with him, I didn’t hesitate. What did I want to pray for? he asked. How about my doctor and anesthisologist? How about all the nurses who work in the hospital? All the patients? The universe of this beautiful place?
We held hands while he said a touching prayer I could easily pray with him. When I asked him if being a Chaplin was his calling, he surprised me with “no.” He was a scientist and was using this experience to keep himself “holistic.” The division between science and religion didn’t exist for him. How refreshing and enlightening.
There were many more wonderful people with stories that touched my heart. I’m sure I’ll be processing them for weeks to come. What a long way from that sixth grade hospital stay – and I’m grateful!
Carolyn
We love Adventist Hospital! Hope this finds you well on the way to recovery. Take care My friend.
Geri
Sent from my iPad
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Well, first if all I found out we are both over achievers! I mirror image everything so I don’t read in sentences. Just this week I encountered new last name that has a letter combination that is new to me. Geinzer for me is Geinzer. I think I finally have it memorized now. I also found out we both hate tests!
You are right that in today’s world they would send you home for a week while the swelling went down. My question to someone as smart as you: why did you ever walk on it for half a mile.
Finally I hope your surgery will correct the problem. I get periodic cortisone shots and wear a brace at night which helps my hand. 💕
See, not every nurse has the Moniker of “nurse ratchet”. I worked hard for that designation and am proud of it still. Most of us are really nice people who do more than bedpans. I’m so glad you finally had a positive experience and I hope you mend well and quickly.
Congrats on getting past the “PTSD,” and changing your hospital associations.
Yeah, things were different in the ’50s! People can’t always picture the limitations….
Ouch ouch ouch! I hope that hand heals swiftly and happily!
I’m one of those weird, weird people who has always loved hospitals. I love the constant attention… the clean, crisp sheets… the little TV you can watch at any angle… even the airline food under their ugly rubber cloches! I can’t stand doctors, though… they ruin the pleasure of the experience… but that’s just a Freudian issue.