Perception

Perception

The way I see it, anytime you can remove your own clothing at the hospital, you are ahead of the game. Let me explain.

Several years ago, my dear little sister had a job delivering pizza. One evening, I got a call telling me that she had been in an accident and that I needed to get to the hospital STAT. I jumped in the car and raced to the hospital. When I arrived, they told me that my sister was in intensive care. They handed me a bag of her belongings. Inside were the clothes they had cut off of her when she was taken in. My sister recovered but I never forgot that bag of shredded clothes.

Recently, I was admitted to the hospital. I was told to remove all of my clothes and put them in a bag which they then handed to my husband for safe-keeping. I felt very vulnerable waiting in that oh-so-fashionable hospital gown, but I was glad that I had walked in on my own two feet, and was reasonably sure, that I would walk out the same way. I did.

One never knows when life will throw us a curve. We may find ourselves in circumstances over which we have no control.  Someday, we might have our clothes figuratively cut off. We will not be given a choice. So while we still have choices, we should remember to be grateful.

When I was young, my brother and I were goofing around in the family room. My grandmother, Nana, was caring for us while my parents were out of town, and we were giving her a run for her money. My brother was jumping on the couch. I started to tattle, when my brother, to shut me up, gave me a shove. I fell, seemingly in slow motion, across the room and banged my head into the wall. I howled. Nana came running.

Nana took one look at the situation and reacted as all grandmothers did back then, -- she grabbed the nearest thing she could, in this case her slipper, and started whaling on my brother. I ran into the kitchen, hands on my head and bent over in “agony” while reveling in my brother’s so-well-deserved comeuppance. 

I didn’t really feel hurt but was putting on a good show, when I thought to myself, “Why does my hand feel so sticky?” I pulled it off my head to find it covered in blood. Then I really began to howl. Nana raced into the kitchen to call a neighbor to take me to the hospital, exclaiming, “Thank God I washed your hair last night!” 

That day, I walked in and out of the hospital. I’ve done that many times since. I don’t want to do it again, but I am going to remember when I do, that walking in raises my chances of walking out. Removing my own clothing, as small as that move may seem, is a measure of the control I have over my own health. And if the time comes when I lose that control, I pray that my family will be there to hold my clothes – support me with their love – and walk with me wherever I go.