One of the most difficult things to deal with in our world is to watch someone you love in pain. Unfortunately, we all deal with this at some point. Be it emotional, spiritual or physical pain, at some point in our lives, we all experience this for ourselves, and experience myriad of emotions that come with watching someone we love in pain, no matter the type. In the not too distant pass, I faced this latter dilemma.
The day started like any ordinary day, filled with the drudgery of traffic and the tedium of work. It was a Tuesday, not unlike any other Tuesday. In the early afternoon, I received a call from K, who was feeling really bad and in great pain. As anyone who plays amateur diagnostician, I inquired to what she had for lunch, thinking it might have played a part. Just a salad, nothing overtly suspicious. Still I thought it might pass, and told her to rest for a bit and if she felt bad in a while, to call if she needed me to pick her up. 10 minutes passed and she called again, telling me she was headed home. I wonder now why even then I did not think too much of it. Perhaps denial; if nothing is wrong in your mind then it really must be ok. Plus, it really could be nothing more than some digestion issues. And at the moment, I do what we all do from time to time, I was too wrapped up in work to really give it more than a few seconds of thought, and figured when she got home, she’d rest and be ok by the time I got home. That was not to be, as she called after arriving home saying she needed to go to the emergency room. Now, finally, my brain and concern mechanisms woke up. I dropped everything and raced home, wondering and worried.
When I pulled up to our building, she was waiting outside, in obvious agony. I loaded her into my truck and off we raced for the nearest medical center. As we pulled out, she intimated that she spent the time waiting for me on the kitchen floor. Now, I don’t know about anyone else, but when someone tells me they were incapable of moving from the floor, it tells me either they partied too hard the night before, or something is seriously wrong. Obviously, the latter was in play here. With as much skill as I could muster from close to twenty years of driving, I sped us off in hopes of, I’m not sure. Perhaps I figured the faster I went our time of arrival would rise exponentially. All I needed was a siren, and it it’s a shame I did not have one. I really would have liked to get there faster.
Sure, my haste was magnified by my concern, but also by my chagrin. I worried that any further delay could be costly, and already my mind was scolding me for not adequately acknowledging the gravity of the situation. But the time for personal admonishments would be plenty in the future; now the only concerns were to get her to medical professionals and try to keep her calm until then. As I am practiced in doing, immediately I switched into crisis mode. While steering with one hand, and keeping two eyes on the road and speedometer, I kept my other hand and other eye on her, trying to comfort and assure her things would be fine while making a few wisecracks to keep things light and help alleviate her, and my, concerns. My mind, however, was betraying that calm exterior.
So there we were, speeding toward the hospital, both full of fear and uncertainty, and her filled with pain. Those first moments of an emergency might be the worst, when you are so unsure and scared of what may happen. Your mind swirls with possibilities and worst case scenarios, which never does anyone any good. But in dark, frightening moments like that, filled with the unknown, you cannot help yourself.
Mercifully, we arrived at the emergency room unscathed and unmolested. Almost immediately they admitted her. It happened almost before I knew it. I took a moment to step outside and make a few phone calls, something I would find myself doing often, and returned to find her admitted. The staff led me back to where she was taken, and already she was being hooked up, prodded and medically investigated. This always takes a toll as well, but in a strange way. On one hand, you’re glad to see the person you love in capable hands who begin their work to making them well again, but at the same time it crushes you to see them in such a weak and vulnerable position. Hooked up to various machines, prone and in pain they almost do not resemble the vivacious and healthy person you know.
But for once, a positive attitude overcame me, as I was happier to see her getting the medical attention she needed. They administered something for the pain, and began a battery of tests and a litany of questions to help determine the cause of her pain. Occasionally, I would slip out to make or return calls. Some to work, both hers and mine, some to friends, and of course some to family. Especially family and especially hers. She wanted to make sure they were kept abreast of the situation, and I made sure they were. After all, it was the least I could do, literally. Short of watching ER, my knowledge and skill in an actual emergency room is, well, nil.
But we waited through the battery of tests and exams, and finally the staff identified the culprit. Her appendix had rebelled, and appendicitis was causing the pain. She was not in any danger of it bursting, but surgery would be required to remove the offending organ. While that is serious, at least it’s something easily treatable, for the most part, and now we need not fear the unknown. We know the problem, now we just need to let the professionals solve it.
As they prepared to move K to a room, I retreated for another rounds of telephone calls. To work, as neither of us would be in tomorrow, her for a few days at least. In moments like that it’s good to have jobs and employers who are understanding and caring during crisis times. Not really employers at this point, definitely friends.
And I made calls to a few friends as I did not feel the need or have the energy to play town crier. I know the word would spread, and to that I was glad that others would be thinking positive thoughts for her. It makes one feel loved to have those friends during moments like this that hold you up, give you love and support and say, we’ll be here if you need us.
Everyone expressed their concern and showed their support. It made me feel good to know so many people would be pulling for her. I felt the worst for her mom, a registered nurse, because she is so far away. Now that must have been a very impotent feeling. Knowing you have the knowledge and care to do some good, but are so far away you cannot even comfort your own daughter when she’s in pain. My heart went out to them the most.
They admitted K for an overnight stay with surgery planned for the next morning. As it was late evening by the time the final diagnosis came in, obviously it was too late to cut this evening. I stayed with her while they admitted her, and stayed longer, well into the night, until I was sure she was comfortable. The surgeon would be by in the morning to discuss the procedure, now all there was to do but wait for that moment to arrive.
I stayed far longer than I should have, though. It was too easy to stay, though, as they had placed her in a private room. It was not spacious, but it was just her in there, and me on a rolling chair that actually reclined. I did not want to leave. I figured it would be better to stay. While I may not know how to perform surgery, I could at least lend support. Good thing, as she did need it. The floor doctor came by on rounds to see the new patient. He had her chart, but began asking a grocery list of questions, all of which K answered already downstairs, and which was noted in her chart. He then asked if she was in for her gall bladder. Looking at him as though he was a moron, K calmly replied that no, she was there for an appendectomy. You would think after all those years of medical training; a doctor would be smart enough to read the chart. While that scene made neither of us comfortable, she had received great care up until then, and hoped that the surgeon tomorrow would have a slight bit more common sense.
I would have stayed all night, but unfortunately the pets needed attention. I could not tune out the entire world, as much as I tried. Regrettably, I said my good nights to her and trundled home. It was strange driving home. Just a few hours before, I was flying along the same roads, but with her beside me. Now I rolled along solo. That night I barely slept the few hours I was home. I found myself too anxious about everything that had just happened and too worried about her. My brain was still processing the dramatic turn of events that the day suddenly took. And I could not get my mind off of K. I was so worried for her. I wondered how she felt at that moment, lying in that room all alone with nothing but her fears and trepidation of what was to come the next day to keep her company. But knowing tomorrow would be long, and that she would need me as much as possible, I did my best to quiet my mind and grab some rest.
After a fitful sleep, I roused myself early to shower, do my pet owner duty and head to the hospital as soon as I could. I called one of K’s bosses to let her know the situation. I had been unable to reach her the day before. I called her from K’s phone, as she had the number programmed. When her boss answered, she thought it was K. When I started speaking, she became less jovial and more serious. I found the whole exchange funny, as I knew I caught her completely off guard. It felt good to find something amusing. I apprised her of the situation, as she had not known what was going on. Like everyone when this process began, she was very supportive and let me know that if we needed anything, just call. It made me feel better knowing that.
I showed up at her room bright and early, as I promised. She looked good, well as good as you can look needing surgery and spending the night in an uncomfortable hospital bed. The night in the hospital had dissipated her fear and anxiety and replaced them with impatience. She had steeled herself to what was to come and what needed to happen, and now she wanted to get the show on the road. Not that I could blame her. Sitting there in a lonely room all night surrounded by sick people would definitely make one want to get their procedure done as fast as possible so you could get home.
This part is difficult, the dreaded anticipation of the event. You want answers immediately, but things do not work that way. You want constant attention and information, but it does not always occur. The doctors have other patients as well that need attention. Patience has never been a virtue of mine and especially in a situation where someone I love is hurt. At that point I wanted things to happen immediately. Wanted the surgeon to come by, explain what would happen and then wave a magic wand to wrap everything up. Unfortunately, just because I lack patience does not mean I get my way. So we sat, talked and flipped through the television channels as time ticked away and early morning gave way to mid morning.
I spent a few moments here and there slipping outside to call friends and loved ones to update them on the situation. People really cared and wanted to help, even if just to lend support, an ear or a shoulder. During these getaways, I walked around the facility to kill time and distract myself. I had those predictable moments of fear, but I did not want to show those in front of K. She needs a rock, not a sponge.
As I returned from one such jaunt, this one to fetch a drink, I found friends had shown up to lend support. Two guys whom with I work came from the office to find out how the patient was doing, and the patient’s fiancé as well. I was glad they showed up, more than I realized I would be. Their presence would help distract me from myself throughout the day. Not knowing what would happen I had declined the many requests of people to stop by. Per the schedule the admitting doctor told us yesterday, if things went as planned, she would be able to leave that night. So I did not want people to rearrange their lives to visit only to get there and find out we were already home. Not that I did not appreciate their thoughtfulness and concern, but I suppose I did not want to trouble them. I admit it, I’m strange. But these unexpected arrivals did help me and did bring some cheer to K.
Their arrival also must have jarred something loose, because right as they got there, things began moving and fast. The surgeon, Dr. Castillo, arrived to talk with K and I, discuss the procedure and answer any questions we had. He informed us the procedure was fairly routine, he has performed it many times; I believe his exact words were thousands of times, and that the whole thing would be a laparoscopic operation. Just three tiny incisions and that’s it, no big long scar. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, technology is amazing. He was unsure exactly the time frame of when it would take place, but he did let us know it would be soon. Once the good doctor left, we started to settle in again thinking we would be waiting. But much to our surprise, personnel arrived shortly afterward to whisk her away to the surgery suites.
Even knowing it would happen, I still found myself unprepared for the moment. It’s so hard to see them taking her away. The weight of everything and the emotion of the events had come to the forefront, and I struggled to remain positive and supportive in our last moments before things happened. We walked; she rode on the gurney, and talked as I gave her every ounce of support and reassurance I could muster. We passed through the doors into the surgical wing and then we came to the point where I could go no further. We said I love yous and then they led her away to surgery, while I retired to the waiting room.
My friends wished to take me to lunch, but I declined. I did not want to be any further away than I had to be. There is nothing I could do at this point, but the feeling of needing to be there was important to me. I wanted to make sure I was there when the surgeon came out afterward to let me know how things went. I feared if I strayed far for any reason, I would miss this all important conversation. With twisted emotions and weighted shoulders, I made my home in the waiting room.
I’ve spent too much time in these waiting rooms. Not as much as some people. I suppose if you have done a survey my time in them is probably far below the average. But even taking that into account, it still feels like I’ve spent far too much time in hospital waiting rooms. Of course, I did get a big chunk of that time, and experience in them, thanks to Chuck. So perhaps that super concentrated time period has exhausted me on the experience. As usual, I made a few jokes to improve the mood and keep things light, knowing full well my mind and everyone else’s is on the elephant in the room.
When you spend time in waiting rooms, be them for surgery, regular hospital admissions, intensive care or any other area, you find no one wants to talk about why they are there. You find people will be personable and friendly, and they will initially tell you their reasons for being there, but it never becomes the focus of a conversation. I figure it’s because speaking of it just brings things into a harsh reality, one difficult to deal with.
Sitting in the waiting room is much like a mental and emotional marathon. All one can think of is what would happen if things go wrong. No matter how simple the procedure things can always go wrong. Your mind, with nothing better to do, always wanders to these possibilities. What would you do if the worst happened? How could you go on? What would it mean to live life without that person? Always seems crazy to think of such things at times like that, especially when you really need to be thinking the most positive thoughts you can. But an unoccupied mind often leads to trouble.
You operate on high adrenaline during these times. You never think of proper food or rest. Your body reacts because your mind wills it. You need to be there for that person. You need to do whatever you can to make things better.
The worst is that you feel so impotent not being able to do anything to help. Sure, every little thing does help. Being there to comfort, distract the person from focusing on the bad, making them smile, feel comfortable, loved, cared for. To help stave off fear and worry, help them rest to be prepared for what they need to go through. But you always want to do more. I’m not sure if it would be better or worse for a doctor, surgeon, nurse or another medical professional. Knowing what would happen, being able to diagnose the problem, possibly helping could help stave off those feelings, but would it make it better or worse. I do not know. I know how it feels to not be able to help more. Impotent, empty, lonely and helpless.
I did attempt to distract myself with television, or leafing through a magazine. All I really did though was watch the clock. We were told the procedure takes about an hour. So I figured an hour from when she left. My mind neglected to calculate prep time, so as that hour came and went, I began to feel anxious and nervous. Those unfounded fears that something went terribly wrong began to find purchase in my mind. I fidgeted as the minutes kept piling up. As the time hit an hour and 15 minutes, I talked myself into going and asking the nurse in charge if she had an update. It did not take much to talk myself into that course of action.
I waited, as patiently as I could, as she spoke with another person. When their conversation ended, and he moved on, I saddled up to the counter and waited, as patiently as I could, for her to finish her task and be able to speak with me. When she did ask if she could help me, her tone was laced with annoyance and impatience. Here is the one moment in my life where I showed the greatest restraint ever. Because the last thing I wanted at that moment was some attitude. It took every ounce of will power not to vault over that desk and smack the bejezus out of her. Here’s a tip, if you work in such an area, do not speak to those waiting with impatience. Their nerves and emotions are already frayed. That just might push them over the edge.
Despite that, she did let me know that K was out of surgery and in recovery. I asked if the doctor was coming out, and she said no, he had moved on to another procedure. I thanked her, and then turned around almost directly into Dr. Castillo. He told me everything I wanted to hear. K did fabulous, the procedure went off without a hitch, and the offending appendix has been removed and that once she is done in recovery they will move her back to her room. I thanked him, probably too much, and finally breathed.
Once you hear from the doctor, everything changes. Knowing that person you love has made it through and will be fine is like a cleansing rain. Relief and joy wash over you, pushing away every dark thought you had. The weight of the world lifts from your shoulders, a weight that before that moment you never knew existed. In that moment, every emotion you have felt since the ordeal began bursts forth in a torrent. All the pain, fear, worry, concern, emptiness, loneliness and helplessness overtake you. After speaking with the surgeon, and giving the thumbs up to my friends, I walked outside to be alone for a moment. I barely made it through the door before I almost collapsed so overcome I was.
You work so hard to wall everything off, keep it inside so not to spread negative emotions to those going through their ordeal. Once you see the light at the end of the tunnel, once you know things will be ok, that wall crumbles as though it never existed, and those dark emotions pour forth unrestrained. You never realize how much is back there either until that wall comes down. The adrenaline that keeps you moving despite sustenance and rest, pushes you through the fear, gives you the energy to deal with the immense weight of every emotion that course through your mind and soul and keeps you buoyant also shields and disguises how deep the pools of negative emotions really are.
Time seemed to drag as we awaited her arrival from recovery. But once she showed up, I felt great relief at finally seeing her, but this moment also breaks your heart. She was still groggy and drugged up from the surgery, not really herself quite yet. This brings a new form of pain, when you see the one you love still suffering from the effects of what has happened.
As she came out of it more, she started feeling better. She was able to eat and the pain became manageable. When the real signs of her recovery showed, my body betrayed me. Once calm and without adrenaline, the exhaustion of everything overtook me. One of our friends stayed and buoyed us and regaled us tales and stories that made us smile and laugh. Once he bid his adieu, I finally succumbed to the exhaustion and napped in the chair next to her until surgeon came by to check her progress. He also let us know that she would experience some discomfort over the next few days, as the carbon dioxide they pumped into her abdomen to create room to perform the surgery worked its way out of her body. Not long after, the head nurse, a great woman and a barrel of fun came by to start the process of discharging K and finally sending her home.
Adrenaline kicked back in at this point and pushed me to prepare everything for her arrival home. As it would still be hours before she could leave, I left to go home and walk and feed the dog, pick up meds and shove some food down my throat before I raced back to collect her. After that frantic intermission, I arrived back still exhausted and drained, but so elated she was well and ready to come home. As a matter of fact, when I did get back, she was only waiting for some paperwork before she could leave. I found that two friends from her work had arrived to visit and find out about our patient. I basically became background as they chatted. I found myself a bit too tired to keep up, and it did make me happy to see them there and to know how much they care about K. Once the paperwork came, the staff whisked her to the front of the hospital, where we gingerly put her in my truck and I drove her home. This drive was much different from our frantic drive there. Much calmer, slower and gentler, and much happier.
The next day found her trying to recover, working through the carbon dioxide exiting and the soreness from the surgery and gas. I just switched to autopilot, as I found myself completely drained emotionally. I felt the overwhelming need to make everything perfect and cover every need she may have. I did whatever I could to make the house livable. I was glad to do it all. It gave me something to focus on other than the fear of what could have happened.
Some friends stopped by to visit in the evening. It was nice to have their company. Many more had called and emailed over the two days, showing their concern and love during a rough time. Moments like this make one feel how lucky they are to have people in their lives that care so deeply. Times of crisis tend to show the true nature of people and bring out their best. It makes me feel privileged and lucky.
After a few days, we had both recovered from the events of those two days. Some rest and watching her recover bolstered me emotionally, and some rest and healing bolstered her emotionally and physically. We never had such a crisis since we’ve been together. I felt good that we could get through it together. But I do not want to do it again.
I need to thank the hospital staff, the emergency room staff for seeing so quickly, Dr Castillo who performed an excellent surgery and everyone who called, emailed, visited and shared their love and offers of help. Neither of us, especially me, could have made it through without knowing those people were there to lean on when I got too weak to stand.
She went back to work the next week, and found herself back into normal life in no time. Her follow up exam with Dr. Castillo went wonderfully, and within two weeks, she was back to normal. It’s funny how such a crisis can become the focus of your life for a small period of time, and then just as suddenly go away. I marveled at this about two weeks afterward, when everything was back to normal. It felt as though the whole thing never happened and was merely a bad dream.
Each day you never know what to expect. She left that morning feeling fine, and was in the hospital by nightfall. Life throws you for a loop, and there is nothing you can do about it. You cannot plan it; you must merely react to the situation presented before you. Humans are resilient and tend to find a way to make it through the hardest of times. This ability makes the best of times that much sweeter. No one wants to go through such things, but we cannot live in fear of such times. You never know what each day will bring, some days its feast, some days its famine, but each day must be met head on. I for one am just glad that this story has a happy ending.
Happy birthday my dear, I love you.
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