I am a germaphobe. Allergic to hand sanitizer. And afraid of parking decks.

Even without the emotional toll of a medical emergency this stay at a large university hospital would have been painful.

 

It began one Monday night. I was laughing with friends over dinner when my Mom called to say they were headed to the ER.

A trip to the emergency room turned into an overnight hospital visit and then into an indefinite stay. For the next three weeks we sat and waited as our expert doctors worked in synchrony to figure out what had suddenly gone so wrong in my Dad’s body. It felt like every week we got a new clue or diagnosis, inching us closer to answers. With five long days of waiting between each one.

 

I know people talk about situations when time stands still. We began to understand that as we sat and stared, waiting for any conversation with doctors we hardly ever saw twice, trying to glean from what they “didn’t” say, walking down the hall again for another cup of boring coffee. Quickly our own house, jobs, appointments and friends seemed so far away.

 

Is the President meeting with a foreign dictator? I see it flash across the screen of the muted tv but nothing else seems real outside of these 4 beige walls. Nothing but the steady beep of the monitors, the antiseptic smell of the routine cleanings, the chill of the cold air under the sheet of a blanket they offer you. How did this quickly become my new normal? After only 3 days at the hospital, I am giving directions to the café, know the gift shop schedule, and how to get the best parking discount. On day 4 two people asked me if worked at the hospital; I must have been walking confidently and looked like I was no longer lost.

 

And then on top of the internal tension there is also a strange isolation and solidarity happening in hospital stays. The phone calls you hear in the waiting room are all the same, yet privately whispered – 

Yes, we’re waiting on the doctors, hoping for the best….

No, we didn’t receive any answers today….

Yes, thank you, but I can’t think of any way you can help….

No, he doesn’t want any visitors at this time….

 

We smile weakly in the elevator because no one really wants to answer the question, “How are you?”

It seems odd that those in the world that could actually understand what you’re going through and listen the best, are all passing each other quietly and separately, each with their head down, buried in their own list of worries. For some reason no one speaks because we silently know how painful it is for the one sitting beside us. They are the one who might actually understand us the best but it’s too heavy of a conversation to begin. Could I be brave to break the silence?

 

 

 

In this midst of hospital waiting is the confusing question of what to do with your time. When there was a window of time for a break, we stole away to the nearest mall, only to feel guilty once we got there. It feels so weird to step outside into the normal world where everyone is having their regular retail day. It’s too hard to know what an honest response should be. “NO, I don’t want a perfume sample – my Dad is in the hospital!!!” Your lip quivers and you worry you are going to unload on the next clerk who asks you how you are. It’s not their fault. But it makes me realize as I go about my regular day how many I might encounter who are going through their own emotional triage and trying not to bleed. How many are smiling and trying to act normal when really they are on an errand to buy emergency supplies or extra clothes because there was no time to pack. Crisis struck and all other normal parts of life have stopped.

 

There also comes moments of strength and clarity which is what is needed to make countless practical decisions while in the hospital. I don’t think most people realize that hospital stays are just as much spent list-making, strategizing, planning how to be practical and frugal and making calls to plan next steps. There can be emotional times, but a lot of time you have to have your game face on and think clearly. Emotion has to be set aside and designated for another day. Sometimes that emotion gets bottled up after too many practical days and spills over on the first available listener. Like a friend of a friend you hadn’t seen in 20 years in the Chipotle parking lot (hypothetically speaking…). Telling someone distant to the problem has a very therapeutic effect.  

 

These observations lead me to conclude that kindness, patience and empathy are always the answer. Always. They fit every situation and will never lead us to regret. They are the response to always give because you never know what the person next to you is facing. To them it may be a day of window shopping and iced coffee out with friends. To you it may be a guilty hour away from the hospital to buy shoes for a relative that suddenly cannot walk, but it seems right to offer the dignity of wearing shoes (the hospital lost!) instead of the bright hospital-issued grippy socks.

 

 

Recently, I pulled into a tight parking lot of a complex with only one way in. A car was stopped, blocking that one way. I waited patiently but two or three minutes went by. An eternity when you’re waiting to park and pick up your two items from the store. I stared through my window at the woman, thought about throwing my hands up in frustration – the universally understood sign of driving anger. I considered using my horn, though there is no way to make a “friendly” honk unfortunately.

I finally settled on a different approach. Compassion overcame me and I got out slowly and walked over to her window. “Is everything ok? Is there anything I can do to help you?” (Hopefully said in a caring, not snarky tone.)

It was a younger woman than I had perceived before. She looked a bit shaken and said, “That car in the spot behind me just hit me and I’m waiting for his information. It’s seems to be taking him a long time.”  

I had no idea what her delay was or why she was inconveniencing me, but thank God I got over my selfishness to ask. I want to keep that in mind when I encounter someone at the store who is angry or in a hurry or being slow to do what I think they should do. They could be the one frantically looking for supplies to take back to family at the hospital that day.  Balancing on the emotional tightrope to hold it together while making practical, frugal decisions for others. Why not implement a gentle kindness no matter where you are? Every day is someone’s awful hospital day.

 

 

Is it possible to form new traditions of habit in the midst of crisis? We are still in the middle of this medical journey. While I have gotten away with my family for a little while, I’ll be heading back to the waiting room this week. What can be different?

• Why not make new friends with the one waiting with you, who will understand your painful waiting?
• Why not carry tissues to allow anyone to cry and feel free to show that stuffed down emotion, even if you cry together without words?
• Why not offer to pray, without having to hear the whole story, that the Lord would restore their hope and give them peace?

 

I did try this out this week. As I was waiting at the treatment clinic, it would have been very easy to stay contently to myself, with “The Little Princess” in hand to read and relaxing to the sounds of the amazing cellist filling the lobby. But I heard a woman near me react exasperated at her long wait enough to moan out loud and decided to break my isolation. 

“I’ve determined to talk to one person everyday at the hospital. Do you mind if it’s you?”

Having an commitment to yourself does help to motivate (at least me!), and an opener to say to strangers does help to break the ice with a little laugh.

“Of course,“ she said, and although we talked a few minutes about her husband’s fresh diagnosis of esophagus cancer, lots of details aren’t needed to ask God to speak truth and hope to them, and that they would lay down worries and stress or lies about their situation in order to receive God’s peace daily in order to make it through this. He knows how to speak to them much better than I do. She became emotional and grateful and when we ended, her husband walked out and her wait was over. I hope her day was helped as well, because I chose not to stay in my own little world.     

 

I recently heard of an incredible lady with a chronic disease who has chosen to make her missionary field the healthcare workers she encounters. And for this season we can make ours the waiting room.

 

Do you have a hospital or waiting room story to tell?

 

 

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Choosing Peace over Envy & Loving the Ordinary Day

From Discontentment to Meaning: Identifying Themes in your life Worth Living For 

Why Easter is the Hardest Sunday of the Year for Me