I wrote this on Tuesday, April 21, 2009 but I want to share it again.
Exactly one year ago today I became ill. This illness would change my life forever. I would walk down a treacherous path, often in such a drug induced haze that I wouldn't realize the gravity of the situation. But other times I'd be wide awake and aware of the storm in which I found myself. I'd be so very afraid that I would purposely find mindless ways to try to slip into that wonderful place called "denial".
I never knew a human body could endure such pain. I speak of physical pain. I would do everything I could think of to lessen the pain, yet it continued for months and months. When I would see others in obvious physical torment my heart would break for them. Oh to take away their suffering.
I recall a rather large, older woman inching her way from the window at the clinic pharmacy to the outside door. She had tears escaping her tightly grimaced face as her hands held just as tightly onto the handle grips of her walker. I could sense the humiliation too as she was whimpering out an explanation to her husband who walked way ahead of her. She was apologizing for not being able to walk any faster because every step brought agony in her knees. As he disappeared into the parking lot, I hurried past her, trying to be discreet to not bring more humiliation, with my own walker just so I could push the handicapped button to open the door for her. I knew from experience that if she arrived at the door without pushing it, she would be forced to either struggle with her walker as she manually open the door or be forced to turn around and walk several extra steps back to the place where the button was located. When every step hurts, even four more is hard.
I've found during my numerous hospital, doctor, outpatient and therapy appointments that among the sick there is a camaraderie. I guess its that old "birds of a feather" idea. Even when in a store or a restaurant, complete strangers would approach me asking my story as they were clued in by my giant back brace and walker. Rarely though was anyone really interested in my story as much as they really wanted to recount theirs to me. People are full of emotional pain and are desperate to find someone who will listen who just might have a little bit of empathy.
One day while I sat in the lab chair for my daily intravenous treatment, I found myself in a conversation with the lady in the booth across from me. She told of how ill she had been for a few years and how she would drive herself in from a neighboring town several days a week for blood transfusions. She told of her different family members; each one with their own reason for being unable to help. Her sister had recently been killed in a drug deal gone bad. Her brother had his own issues and her mother was too old. This lady was all alone and desperate to talk to someone about her life. She talked until her medication caused her to doze off. I was so sick myself that day, that I felt a twinge of relief when she fell asleep but I did pray for her as I sat there watching her receive blood as I received my massive dose of antibiotics for the day. When your heart aches and no you have no one to share your fears with even sick strangers help ease the disturbing emotions.
I was not able to drive for almost ten months. Near the end of that period of time, a social worker helped me sign up for the city's handicapped transportation system. These are the little "short" buses that pick up those about town who are either physically handicapped, developmentally disabled or both. Each time I'd board the bus, pay my fare, get strapped in and settle back trying to keep from getting the inevitable motion sickness that always hit, it would happen. The driver would realize that I was not mentally challenged so he would strike up a conversation at first asking me about the missionary base I live where he'd picked me up. One or two sentences in and then he would change the subject to himself. I heard the life story of every driver I ever rode with on that short bus.
One guy was former military and was just sure that any day they would want him to return. He was convinced the Army would realize their having discharged him was a mistake. Another guy moved here with his wife for a better life but their home back in California had not sold yet so life was too hard now. He described the toll it was taking on his wife and explained the solution to her crying and worrying was that he was going to "quit her". Another guy told me of how he'd been the best mechanic the transit system ever had, but they decided to make him a driver instead. On more than one trip, this driver told me of the big mistake the city had made.
On and on, these drivers would talk and as I listened I would be praying for strength to respond lovingly. The truth was,by the end of the trip I was usually so motion sick, I'd almost run off the bus. But these guys were lonely, socially separated from interacting with people as they drove their handicapped buses around town. When you're lonely, you often don't see the pain of others.
I've been in much physical pain, emotional turmoil and social isolation over this past year. Yet I've never been alone. God has walked through every bit of it with me holding me when I was hurting, wiping my tears when I'd become overwhelmed and whispering to me his love songs when I longed for companionship.
I hope my interaction with others who were hurting in some way gave them a glimpse of God's deep love for them. I wasn't always able to get outside of my own pain but the times I did helped bring healing to me. Oh dear friends, don't forget to love those who hurt.
