Hospitals and helplessness.

After suffering too long with a hand infection, I finally reported to an emergency room last week, and was immediately admitted to the hospital. I was quickly reminded of something that I tell my clients: being in a hospital is like entering into another culture, with different clothing, rules, language. You ae the patient and you are the outsider. It has been a long time since I felt this helpless. You wait, you worry, you put up with a lot of discomfort. Things happen on someone else's schedule. You have minimal choice about what you eat, if any. The days pass slowly, at night you find yourself awakened virtually every hour. What was especially interesting to me was observing the caregivers. They often looked like walking wounded, worried expressions, clearly exhausted. I had various roommates while I was there. Family members came to visit, sat while their loved one complained, or cried. They gently asked nurses to give their loved one a little extra assistance, clearly afraid to rock the boat by appearing to be too demanding. And patients told their caregivers to go home and get some rest, feeling their own guilt. The caregiver's burden. I see it my clients, and I saw it my own mirror when I was taking care of my mom. As I was going for my occassional strolls, hand in hand with my IV rack, I saw caregivers standing in the hallways, taking a breather, making a quick phone call to give a status report, or to reconnect with their own lives for a minute or two. I smiled at them, and sometimes received a sad smile in return. Life on life's terms.