If there where three people that I could have seen again from my long stay at Harris Methodist Fort Worth Hospital, it was two of the three pictured here. (Just kidding, Blake, I know you've been waiting a few weeks for me to post this picture. Sorry it has taken so long.) No really, I spent over a month on the Oncology 7th floor and 2/3 of my memories are very foggy (just ask Michael Jackson or Paula Abdul-- see post Feb. 11th). But always, my clearest, best memories are of Bridget, Ashleigh and Blake.
Bridget (pictured right) was there the day they rolled me in to the hospital room. I was scared (that's a understatement), confused and in tears, and she was the one who brought answers and comfort to me and my family. It seemed like 'no problem' was her motto. If it seemed like no one could get something or find out something (like 'where is that doctor?'), Bridget would say 'no problem'. If it wasn't right, she made it right. She got it done, found that doctor, answered the hard questions and still had time to make me laugh. Bridget was also there the day I left. I think she saw the uncertainty in my eyes and read my mind. She told me that I was ready.
Dignity is really the one thing you check at the front door when you're admitted into a hospital. As a patient you have to bare (and 'bare') everything to complete stangers. (Sometimes you'd think it was Mardi Gras the number of times I was asked to lift up my shirt.) Strangers, really, who see you at your phyically and emotionally lowest. Ashleigh made me feel like I still had my dignity. She was compassionate. Ashleigh saw me struggle as personal barriers and space continued to shrink. She always pushed them back out to my comfort zone. And if they had to be crossed for a test, procedure or something simple like help getting out of bed to use the restroom, Ashleigh always showed extrodinary kindness and understanding. A remarkable person.
Blake endured my drug induced antics and harassment, my never ending non-sense chattering and gossip, and bad jokes (not as in 'poor taste' like the one above, just bad as in 'not that funny'). I think I still mixed in a good amount of complaining. He still came in with a smile.
You would think after more than a month, I'd be ready to leave to that room. But truthfully, the idea was frightening. I wasn't going to see all the nurses and techs that took such good care of me everyday anymore. It was like leaving family. Thank you.
