Words (revised)
Anger vs. Peace
Words.
Not having them. Here is the story I want to share from my second week in TGH Heart Transplant Recovery - or “Eight West”. Eight West is a place of miracles, healing, cures, and great joy. Eight West / Tampa General Hospital / all hospitals are places of great grief and anguish, too.
There are statistics on survival and recovery but for any individual, there are only two, possible outcomes. Life and Death (ok, continued disease, too, but I'm counting that in the Life outcome).Couple of other things collided outside my door on Eight West. - words and inconsolable grief / anguish.
I startled awake from a mid-afternoon nap by the angry yelling and curses of a young, black father in anguish and pain over learning that his only child, his eight year-old daughter, was near death. She needed transplant or she would die. He was not married to the mother of his child, was estranged from her and had no rights in his daughter's care. His mind could not accept it and he couldn't express it except in anger, profanity and threats of violence. I had no idea what he would do, I couldn’t get up to close the (un-lockable) door - I was stuck, finally, I remembered I had some cheap, hospital headphones and plugged into the tv and turned up the volume! Before that, I heard enough and I could hear him above the TV volume.
It became clear to me that the chance of violence was slim as the nurses, assistants, docs and a psych nurse continued to gently speak to the young man. Security was nearby but not in view. The caregivers “talked him down” and walked him out without physical contact. I prayed for him. I wondered what to make of this and it came to me - words. He did not have the words. He had “street”.
Street was all he had needed to “do” life and interact with his world and culture but he is suddenly outside his world, and was lost. Lost, lost, lost. It broke my new heart and was ground glass to my soul. His pain and anguish that could only be expressed by street. He only had street for words, for thoughts, for coherence of his own mind and for expression to others. It was Primal. Raw. Angry. Vile. Profane. Threatening. Violent. It was street.
Eight West is a place of healing, grace, mercy and love. Compassion, patience, training, inner-peace and faith of the caregivers was all that was needed. My nurse, Rodrigo, was one of these. He stands all of five-foot, four and probably weighs in at 140 soaking wet - not the Hulk by any means. Others took the lead but Rodrigo stood with them.
He could not, discuss the matter with me later as they all keep their silence in patient matters, but we shared the peace and joy of the resolution. The young, un-married father had the space to settle down but he didn't have the words to understand, conceptualize, or understand that his baby girl was going to get her heart, soon, and have a great chance at a full life.
He cried, “She’s my life!, She’s ALL I GOT” in a mix of tears, curses and taunts.
He didn't have the words, or “The Word”.
He cursed in the hallway outside my door, he yelled curses from around the corner, he screamed angry threats from the elevator lobby and down the elevator. He returned an hour later and screamed and yelled violent taunts and curses from the elevator lobby again. Still, no security - just faith, patience, care and compassion in response.
He finally left and I did not hear from him again.
We think in words in a language. Core beliefs are held in our mind in words. When we think of self, place, others, anything other than base groans, primal expression of need or pain we require words. Words are important - have them, and you have rich, complete and nuanced thought and can express your thought to others in words that have clarity, and from clarity comes understanding and from understanding, maybe agreement. We respond to words from within and from without.
I choose a photo that tells a story, too. I like that we are the one above after looking at men of the street culture. I thought, who mostly determine our outcomes? I like that the photo above promotes a positive, wholesome vision, rather than "street" photos, I prayed for that young man that day and during my stay at the hospital and I pray for him to have peace and his daughter to be healed. I wonder what could have been this distraught dad's life if he had been taught the words, or most importantly, “The Word”?
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image ©Corbis Images: licensed use by permission.
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