Hey Euty, I just wrote this today. I don’t know if it would fit for Teemings, but I didn’t really know where else to put it either, and I didn’t want to start another thread.
Perspectives–For the Living
What’s kept me from focusing too much on the craziness of this week was that a dear friend of mine had to be hospitalized, and although I regret her misfortune, I believe it was a saving grace for her and for me in ways I can’t begin to speculate. This by no means is meant to disrespect those who’ve lost loved ones to Tuesday’s attack. This just a tribute to the courage it takes to go on living.
Today, I went to see N., and it felt so nice to be
able to do things for her. She’s been in the hospital
since Monday evening. She fell and shattered her
left forearm and broke her left leg in three places. Her
arm was so bad doctors had to operate on it. But
she’s been a real trooper, and she’s fighting back.
She said when the doctor told her she might not be
able to swim again, she decided that yes she would too do so someday. Anyway, doing for her in the
hospital this week was wonderful, though I hated that
it had to be that way. It was a little like old
times, her supervising me in tasks and helping me in
whatever way she could to complete them. Today I
helped her get dressed. I escorted her out of the
hospital and waited for her friends to pick her up and
take her home. I’d gone over to the hospital today so
I could give blood, but found that the blood drive had
been cancelled. I put my name down on a list so they
could call me in a couple of days. But then something
told me to go check on N. and see if she’d left. She
was there and talking with a lady named G., a retired
middle school teacher. I could tell that G. is a
no-nonsense type person. It was just so nice sitting
there and listening to G. talk about her new house and
complain about how the builders cut down the wrong
type of trees and left standing the wrong type of
trees. Apparently, they left a few scraggly pines in
place, and that’s not good because pines have such
shallow roots that they need to have a grove of them
around to support them, otherwise they just fall over
really easy in a storm. Anyway, G. left after awhile,
and N. asked me how I knew to come over there when I
did. She doesn’t know that I just follow my
instincts. I don’t know how my brain functions, but I
follow what it tells me to do, and that usually keeps
me out of trouble. N. was glad that I showed up when
I did because she didn’t want G., whom she doesn’t
know that well, to help her get dressed. So I helped
N. get dressed.
After I saw her safely off, I was just a grinning
because she and I both were out of that hospital, but
also because I’d done something constructive and
helped her. I wasn’t afraid of her being sick in the
hospital, which just amazed me. I think what helped
was that she kept me busy getting her ice, pouring her
drinks, and just talking about stuff. It just took my
mind off of all the crazy shit that’s been going on
that I have no control over. It was real, I was in
the moment with another person whom I could visibly
tell brightened because I came to see her, and there
were things that I could do with my hands. N. is not
pretentious and does not stand on ceremony. I think
that’s one of the reasons why we connect so well. I
just marvelled at her spirit. Here she is laid up in
pain in the hospital, but she’s encouraging the young
3rd year medical intern who’s doing his rotation, and
behind his back, she’s complimenting his outstanding
bedside manner. She said that this fella had to come
wake up patients at 5 a.m. so the night before that
happened he came to talk to her and to the other
patients he’d have to wake to let them know what he
was going to do. N. who’s no stranger to hospitals
since she was in them a lot when her husband who was a
heart patient was alive, said she’d never seen a
doctor do this. I could tell that the nurse who came
to take her blood pressure really was happy for her
that she was getting out. The nurse told her to come
back to see her to visit, not to be a patient. N. is
just a beautiful person. Funny, witty, practical, no
nonsense, always looking to help and encourage folks
and offer the benefit of her experience and that
formidable problem-solving ability of hers, she just
knows how to deal with people. I found it funny that
though she was the patient, she was the one
doctoring/healing/tending to those who came to see
her. Visitors to patients in hospitals don’t know
what to do a lot of times. How do you act/treat
someone who’s been hospitalized. I’m sure it was
obvious to her that I’m a nervous wreck in hospitals
and around sick people, and she helped us all in
whatever way she could. She’s just so beautiful that
way.
While I was visiting her we talked about things. She
gave me advice on what to do when I am called to give
blood. When I told her I was nervous about giving
blood because I can’t stand needles, she laughed and
said her daughter who’s an outstanding doctor is
deathly afraid of needles. We both had to laugh at
that. 
Looking at N.'s situation, I couldn’t help
thinking that things do happen for a reason. I mean I
don’t wish what happened to N. on anyone, not even on N.,
but the fact that she shattered her arm and leg a day
before the terrorist attacks is not lost on me. I
think that N. needed to be focused on other things
besides that. Maybe her fall was her own wake-up call
to get her away from thinking about her husband’s
recent death. Sometimes in the grieving state we get
away from the fact that we are still alive and must go
on living our lives, and that trying to live our lives
after we’ve lost a loved one really is quite a
struggle. It’s so easy to just give up and sucuumb to
grief and memories and the ubiquitous “what ifs” that
really are fronts for the guilt survivors feel at the
fact that they are still alive. Sometimes we need to
be put in positions where we have to struggle to live.
N.'s arm and leg represent to some small degree her
shattered life now that her husband’s gone. While she
heals, she’s going to have to rethink how to do things
she once did easily and took for granted. She can’t
drive; she has to relearn how to walk;
she has to doctor her clothes so that she can get into
them without hurting herself; she has to think about
how she’s going to tend to her personal needs;
how she’s going to be independent while having to depend on others
too, and do a plethora of other things. She has to go
through this interim period of rebuilding her life so
that when her arm and leg heal, she can move on
and gradually expand the number of things that she can
do. I told her when she was getting a little
frustrated at not being able to do things that she
needs to give herself time. She’ll be okay. She’s
come a long way as it is, and each day though the pain’s still there, things get
easier. She’s not as nauseated as she was. She’s not
completely exhausted after sitting up or doing
physical therapy. Each day when she can stay on her
feet a little bit longer and the pain in her body is a little bit less is a triumph.
