Today, the hospital got in. I think I didn't feel it, because I was so worried about showing everybody what they were supposed to do. We played hospital soccer with a kid who would never talk to me. Now we are bros thanks to everybody playing and having fun.
There was a child today who was in and out of a coma for 2 months. He had a huge dressed gash in his head and there was a line of something painful internally that extended to the middle of his abdomen. I gently changed the diaper with a nurse's help. The boy was going into convulsions in short intervals. I came back to grab rash cream from one of the girls in the hall. There were sores all over him. A woman helped me apply it. I realized a short time later that she was his mother by the delicate way she handled him and applied the cream and took his gas mask off, which was later confirmed by me asking her. When I was in the middle of this my mind was reminded of a story related to me from one of the girls here before about a professor whose class I would take the next semester. A short time after he and his wife were married, she was badly hurt on a beach and was in a coma for an extended period. My friend, who was a very close friend of their family, talked about how he would go to her room and talk to her, and turn her over to prevent her from getting bed sores, which I clearly saw on this boy. I don't think that it is a coincidence that this teacher assigned this article for one of our readings in that class. I read it last night again. Looking at this boy I felt a deep concern for him. His mother went through several orthodox rituals which seemed to her just as important as his oxygen if not more.
One of the major differences between my perception this year in the hospital versus last time is that I feel I've been stripped a bit of my insular tribalism. It will probably always remain to a certain degree, but I feel like I am able to trust the hospital a bit more for what it is and love the people here for who they are. I felt close to this mother through the menial care for her child. I saw the fierce/gentle love for him in her eyes as she attempted to soothe his panicked cries while he came to briefly. This is a part of love I have pitifully shied away from in the past. When I see things like this, I wonder if I have ever truly been able to love. This is what we try to emulate at the hospital, which would be an unrealistic expectation for anyone to do fully, and sometimes all we can do is give them a diaper. But we try to get closer each time.
There was a child today who was in and out of a coma for 2 months. He had a huge dressed gash in his head and there was a line of something painful internally that extended to the middle of his abdomen. I gently changed the diaper with a nurse's help. The boy was going into convulsions in short intervals. I came back to grab rash cream from one of the girls in the hall. There were sores all over him. A woman helped me apply it. I realized a short time later that she was his mother by the delicate way she handled him and applied the cream and took his gas mask off, which was later confirmed by me asking her. When I was in the middle of this my mind was reminded of a story related to me from one of the girls here before about a professor whose class I would take the next semester. A short time after he and his wife were married, she was badly hurt on a beach and was in a coma for an extended period. My friend, who was a very close friend of their family, talked about how he would go to her room and talk to her, and turn her over to prevent her from getting bed sores, which I clearly saw on this boy. I don't think that it is a coincidence that this teacher assigned this article for one of our readings in that class. I read it last night again. Looking at this boy I felt a deep concern for him. His mother went through several orthodox rituals which seemed to her just as important as his oxygen if not more.
One of the major differences between my perception this year in the hospital versus last time is that I feel I've been stripped a bit of my insular tribalism. It will probably always remain to a certain degree, but I feel like I am able to trust the hospital a bit more for what it is and love the people here for who they are. I felt close to this mother through the menial care for her child. I saw the fierce/gentle love for him in her eyes as she attempted to soothe his panicked cries while he came to briefly. This is a part of love I have pitifully shied away from in the past. When I see things like this, I wonder if I have ever truly been able to love. This is what we try to emulate at the hospital, which would be an unrealistic expectation for anyone to do fully, and sometimes all we can do is give them a diaper. But we try to get closer each time.
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