Writing Tasks

7-14-18 Workshop Task

7-14-18

Claire’s Workshop

Late Halloween evening as I got ready for bed, I had indigestion. It was so bad, I could not lie down, sit down, or stand up with any comfort. I hurt. Nothing helped. In the morning, I called the Doctor and made an appointment, then I went to wait for the taxi. A neighbor saw me and offered me a ride.

At the doctor's, I threw up. He told me to go to the hospital.

After an agonizing ride, I moaned and groaned, and stumbled through the intake interview. I was taken to a hospital room where doctors, nurses, interns and residents kept asking questions. I rolled on the bed unable to lie down. Eventually, I faded out of consciousness vaguely aware they were attempting to insert an IV and were having trouble with the needle.

Time blurred.

I moaned and groaned my way in and out of a fever. I heard indecision in the voices above me as the nature of my illness was discussed. I buried myself blankets and propped myself up rocking between sleep and consciousness. I dreamt in purples and greens and somewhere in the middle of all, a woman in the bed next to me moaned and groaned, too.

Gradually, I became aware I had a roommate. Mary. She and I agreed to moan together. As I lay there drifting in and out, doctors and nurses kept telling me I was seriously ill, Mary told me about her family, a living horror story, and I remember thinking, this is too much.

Here is a woman next to me, her whole body out of whack and a family from hell. She had worked two jobs to support her fatherless family and to buy a home. With every ounce of her soul, her energy, and her body, she supported countless people who gave nothing back.

She had more stamina than I could ever dream of. I fell asleep thinking I would die with her life's story in my ears. I thought it an irony as my consciousness faded.

As I regained consciousness, again, my inside voice said, "You can be positive or negative, you make the choice." I woke up laughing.

I joked with the nurses and doctors, said please and thank you, and tried not to complain. Eventually, an exploratory procedure found a blocked bile duct.

But nothing in my white life helped me understand what was happening to Mary. I listened as she told me of generations that had pulled away, each generation less supportive, less warm, until there were grown children who had forgotten what it mean to be human.

I heard of beatings, theft, vandalism, drinking, unwanted children, abandoned pets, and fights. I heard of her attempts to hide food and money from her children because they took everything. I heard of her attempts to shield her aging father from her children's physical abuse, going as far as putting a lock on his door.

What advice could I offer to her? I had no children. Silly me, I tried to teach her meditation exercises to reduce stress. I remember lying there trying to describe, in an unpracticed voice, mountains, ocean beaches and forests, wishing for some comfort in her life.

As I got better, I visited the hospital chapel, I thought of this Mary's story. Her survival was a miracle, her strength a wonder, so much suffering and struggle with little joyous fruition.

Mary and I became the "pajama party" on the floor. Mary joked constantly. We laughed and teased the interns, technicians, nurses and doctors. We had IV contests to see whose IV would stay in the longest. I lost.

All day and all night, she worked her telephone, managing her home and family from her bed, paying bills and instructing family members to care for her aging father. By the end of the week, he, too, was admitted to a hospital.

Then came time for surgery. After I was prepped and moved onto a gurney, Mary came up to me and wished me luck.

The last face I saw before going into surgery was that of the an Indian resident. He was beautiful. I couldn't have asked for a better last vision. I smiled and thank god.

After surgery, it was pain big time, and of course, they wanted me to get up and walk immediately. I did and Mary and I called it, "the gall bladder slide" as I shuffled my feet and pushed my IV along the floor.

I hadn't eaten in a week. When they brought my first meal, I couldn't even eat a pea. My mouth just woudn't accept it. "Great way to diet", I thought. For the rest of my stay, I gave most of my food to Mary. She either saved it in plastic bags or feed her family when they came to visit.

When any of her children entered the room, darkness descended as they stood large, grim, and silent against the wall. No words of affection or concern. No smiles. Pain from low self-esteem like beaten dogs emanated from them.

Once Mary sighed and said she wished her family had sent her flowers. When they came to take Mary for her procedure, I went to her side, squeezed her hand and wished her well.

As we both continued to get better, we talked more. I was eager to return to my life. I don't think Mary was, she had been hospitalized many times for an odd digestive aliment. Her throat, her stomach and most of her digestive organs were scarred and ulcerated. I think her hospital stays were a respite from her life.

The time we spent together was intense. She was more comfort to me than I was to her.

When I started roaming the hospital floors, I ventured downstairs to the gift shop and bought Mary flowers and a teddy bear. I got a nurse to help me surprise her. She was.