Friday I had THAT procedure. You know the one. You have it at 50 and if you are lucky, you will have it again in 10 years. It's the experience that reminds you of how utterly human you are, simply a skin sack fully stuffed with bits and bobs surrounded by various types of ooze and ick. The one that makes you feel like you have been turned inside out.
10 years ago, I had this procedure at nearby Duke University Hospital by a physician, who while perfectly capable, looked to have just stepped off the little league pitcher's mound. I anticipated the same this year. I was indeed scheduled with the same physician, but he now worked out of Briarcreek 20 minutes away. Okay, not that much further, I told myself. But surprise! I was contacted mere days before to learn that my guy's patients had been moved to Duke Raleigh, a 30 minute drive away. This caused some consternation as there is a fine bit of scheduling and work to get in on time and ready. But okay.
 |
| Duke Raleigh |
So the glorious prep day came and I followed my instructions with the precision of a scientist attempting to perfect cold fusion. I measured and timed and double and triple checked my directives. Sleep became only a memory. 2:30 AM arrived the day of my ordeal and I was awakened from a brief snooze by the harsh ring of an alarm to further prep. We left the house at 5:45 am, and headed to I-40 in the dark. I was hungry, I was cross, I was exhausted, I was anxious, I was sleep-deprived, and for the love of all that is Holy, I was wearing one of my mother's Depends. I was not happy.
We arrived at the hospital, husband dropping me at the door when I refused to walk in from the parking deck. I lurched inside and was beckoned over to the intake desk. And then an amazing thing happened. The woman working showed up.
And I don't mean she got to work on time. I mean at 6:15 on a Friday morning, she brought her A game. She was welcoming, efficient, helpful and clear. I was a bit astonished. After a very brief wait and reunion with hub, transport arrived and I was walked back through the maze of procedure rooms and curtained areas and introduced me to my pre-op nurse. And you know what? She showed up too. 100 percent focused on me, my comfort, my needs. "Your chart says you're a tough stick, let me get something to warm the skin. We'll try this vein here, it's not typical but I want to get it on one try." And you know what? She did.
Then the revovling door of attendants showed up like clockwork, each thrusting aside the preop cubicle curtain and stepping into my space. The anesthesologist, the specialist (who, declared that yes, he had actually aged 10 years but that I couldn't see the gray in his hair.) And each of these people, including my GI guy, who completely ignored the clattering phone in his pocket, was laser focused on me.
Before I knew it, the nurse anestitist showed up and wheeled me to the procedure room, where I was met by two other nurses that descended on me in the very best of ways. introducing themselves, asking if the gentle music in the background was a bother, settling me into place and adding an oxygen canula. They chatted, reassured, and explained in warm exchanges. One could sense my spiraling anxiety and placed her warm hands on my shoulder and back, offering physical comfort as if it was her second nature. I felt protected, reassured, and safe. I heard my specialist come in and on the stroke of 8, when I was scheduled. The nurse anestitist explained she was starting my meds. And then all was darkness.
I came to in the post op area, and felt 100 percent like myself. The GI guy whisked in and explained my results and made a date for 10 years. Again, the post-op nurse was thorough and kind and by 8:50 am I was dressed, in a wheelchair and waiting for transport to roll me out the front door to go home. Elated with my good results, I clamored in the car and dozed as we drove the miles back home.
But it's an odd thing. That elation stayed with me. Over the weekend, I kept going back to the experience searching for what made me feel so good about it. Of course the results were a major relief so that was a big part of it but there was more and in the wee hours of this morning I found my answer.
Simply this: everyone showed up.
I'm a 61 year old woman and I know that nurses, doctors, administrators, technicians don't always show up. In fact, their jobs are hard and I don't really expect it. I've seen cranky nurses, preoccupied MDs, bored staff. But not Friday. Every single individual I interacted with brought their very best selves to me. Their care and interaction provided a web of assurance that buoyed me through that procedure and beyond.
And you know what?
They didn't care if I was black or white or other. (And they were all races and ethnicities.)
They didn't care if I was male or female. (And there were some of each.)
They didn't care if I was gay or straight.
They didn't care if I was a democrat or republican.
Heck, they didn't even care if I was a Tarheel. (Or at least I hope not!)
They set aside themselves for my brief time at Duke Raleigh and they made it about me.
And there is a powerful lesson there, and, in fact, there is a powerful directive. And it is this: SET YOURSELVES ASIDE AND SHOW UP FOR EACH OTHER.
It's hard. We Americans are such a ME socieity, made even more so in recent years. We see everyone though the cracked glasses of our own prejudice and small-mindedness. We post ALL LIVES MATTER, WHEN IS STRAIGHT PRIDE DAY? IMMIGRANTS ARE TAKING AMERICAN JOBS!
Instead, what if we consider each other instead of ourselves? If we try to understand what systemic racism is instead of denying it? Try to imagine growing up closeted and denied by our own familes and churches? Think of a family so desperate to be Americans that they are willing to pay coyotes all that they have on the mere chance of crossing the border.
Instead of expecting the world to conform to OUR vision, what if we let each person rise and grow in their own way and in their own time and we simply show up with our best selves? What if we extend our hand to other people who are different from ourselves. If we listen, learn, and help?
It's really what Jesus meant when he said "Thou shalt love their neighbor as thyself." He didn't add ANY qualifiers He didn't say "love people who look like you, who vote like you, who love like you."
It is the foundation of our faith. The judging isn't ours to do. Our call is clear. To listen to others, to lift others, to affirm others, to help others. To set ourselves aside and SHOW UP.
Which is really another way to say our call is to love.
To love.
To love.
And then love some more.
Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us. - 1 John 4:7-12 (NIV)
