On Weekends, I pull hours as a security guard at a prominent hospital. Today, I was assigned to a patient watch (patient presenting danger to self or others, but mostly you sit still and watch people sleep off their medications.) I didnt feel well, my Menieres Syndrome was triggered by the changing weather, but I was able to grin and bare it. The nausea was up, but the vertigo was mild. But thats not why Im posting. The patient I was watching had some type of neurological trauma (thats often the case up on the rehab unit where I was assigned.) To my surprise, across the hall I saw someone I know, a good friend. We chatted for a while. Hed had a mild stroke that took out his left side. His prognosis is pretty good, hes already regaining some function, but he has a very long road ahead. I cant go into details about some of this, as there are legalities of confidentiality that Im bound to by both the hospital and NYS and Federal law, but when the patient in my charge went to physical therapy, my job was to stay with her. Thats when the Menieres kicked in. I was feeling low. One of the most frustrating parts of my work is that because I wear a security uniform, it is automatically assumed that Im some half-wit. To be honest, some of the guards Ive worked with the past three and a half years barely qualify as a quarter wit -- as in whatsoever. Thing is, Im probably more well read that everyone in the hospital, save for the doctors and perhaps some administrators. And thats because they have to keep up to date with their professional reading. You see, as a writer, thats what I do. A huge part of being a writer is time spent reading, and Im not talking just pulp fiction or lazy beach reads. I read the great authors and they can be a real challenge. Thing is, reading them expands both comprehension and critical faculty, as well as teaching me what great writing is all about. As a writer, Im no Faulkner or Thomas Wolfe. But I read them. Cormac McCarthy is a bonafide genius. Ill never write like that, but than few can. I read them and other greats in hope that it will make me a better reader and in turn, a better writer. Im just trying to realize my own potential, where ever that may fall. Now, a hospital is like any other workplace. There are hierarchies. And there is a lot of kick the dog that goes on every day. That and a lot of rumor and gossip mongering. There is also not a little bit of ego in the air. So, we the lowly in security get kicked by just about everybody who has a grudge against people who kick them, which is a damn lot of people feeling kicked or begrudged. Human nature. Still, it irks me that that entire intellectual side of my life ceases to exist to other people solely because Im in that guard uniform. As Ive mentioned, I have Menieres Syndrome, which can be (and in my case is) a serious, debilitating medical condition. I still work part-time, but I just cannot work like I used to. More frustration. In my acting years I worked two, three jobs at a time and that went on for the better part of a decade. Im no workaholic, like most folks, I have both a lazy streak and a good work ethic. I dont know how that works out, but it does. However, less work and a chronic health issue have financially and energy-wise pushed my life into societys margins. Its a suck place to be, let me tell you. I know what working poor is. Most often, I just punch through and oddly enough, at times Ive actually got the most out of life Ive ever known. Today, sitting in the physical therapy room, ignored by nurses, feeling in the way, feeling sick, feeling frustrated, I got down on myself. Even when I tried telling myself that running into my friend was what the Lord wants and needs me to be, because this is generally what I believe about life. Then it happened. I was watching these patients, people who were early middle aged to much older. Id guess stroke would be the problem for most, or some neurological problem or some kind of paralysis. As I looked around the room I realized how hard they were working. I mean, fighting like hell to lift a leg twenty times, or squeeze a foam rubber hand exerciser or to do core exercises with a lightweight ball or bar. You know what I saw today? Raw courage. Pure guts. Unstoppable determination. I saw hope and I saw the beauty of the human spirit in full force. I cried. I felt a tremendous sense of awe, and the tears just seeped from my eyes. You can think of all the times youve ever used these adjectives watching sports, courage, guts, determination, but I tell you that has nothing compared to what I saw today. Even with my own troubles, I thought, man, there but for some cluster of cells in a broken blood vessel or capillary - go I. One day, these people blinked an eye and woke up devastated. In the song of a heartbeat, life changed and they were left with a choice to fight or effectively die. Well, my God, they were fighting. They were fighting like hell to get back what was taken away. To get the heck out of the hospital. To get back to life. One woman said something I hope I never forget and dont think I could if I tried. With an eyelid drooping, a slight downward curve pulling her mouth down one side of her face, and a hand curled half-closed resting in her lap, she was walking her wheelchair with her one good foot. She was adamant, forceful; no waiting another second for her. The physical therapy aide with this woman said, My, youre in a hurry to finish up today. The woman in the wheelchair, not stopping her stride, not skipping a beat, said to the aide, Im in a hurry to get back to my children! There are days that I dont like where I am and what Im doing at that job. Then there are days, like today. Days when Im awestruck by the the profound beauty that we call the human heart. Days when a once broken woman teaches me about this thing we call courage.
Posted on: Sun, 27 Oct 2013 06:07:20 +0000
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