Li Tong walks into the facility where she recently had her ultrasound of her unborn child. She simply wanted a photo of her baby, which she felt she had been promised, but was never given. In her best attempt at the English language, she stood at the receptionist's desk trying to explain why she had come. No, she didn't have appointment, which aggravated the front desk girl, but, patiently, and with a smile on her face, Mrs. Tong tried her best.
I was covering as a temp tech in an out patient diagnostic center and the schedule was typically very full, but this afternoon, there was a lull. In the hope of finding something to do, I walked to the front office to find the discussion with Miss Li taking place. I offered to pull up her previous ultrasound and print up some pictures for her. Surprisingly, they let me bring her back with me. I was happy to have her tag along and I brought her into the ultrasound room and closed the door for privacy. She explained herself all over again, of how she just wanted a picture of her baby. Today was the only day she could come by, because she worked 6 days a week, sometimes 7, in a nail salon. Her husband worked 7 days week and was unable to be with her when the ultrasound was done, so she just wanted a picture to show him. Li seemed fearful, yet brave at the same time. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.
As we talked, and I tried my best to understand her broken English, I found the exam and viewed image after image, looking for a "cute" picture of her baby. None. There was not one profile picture, not even a "boy" image, even though she had been told she was having a son. I went through all of them again, hoping I had missed something. Still nothing. Diagnostic images only. Not even a hand or a foot image to "awww" over. Nothing to print for her. I felt terrible. What was I to do? I asked if she could stay for a bit and offered to scan her right then and there and get some new cute pictures of her baby boy. She agreed, but wished her husband could be there with her. I promised to take as many pictures as possible so she could show her husband their son and some extras to send to family if she wanted.
Family. I scanned and she told me her story. She didn't have any family here, only her husband. They had come here from Vietnam to start working and save up money so they could bring the rest of their families over; her parents, sisters, and brother, his parents and sisters. They had both received their education in Vietnam and were accountants. They thought finding work would be simple since they both had college educations and marketable skills. Once here, in the United States of America, they learned that the accountant degree from Vietnam was not recognized, whatsoever. Neither of them could find work as an accountant, so her husband was going to go to college again in order to obtain an American college degree in accounting and she would work, then she would go to college once he found work as an accountant. They had a small studio apartment and she had found work at a nail salon. Then she ended up pregnant. She and her husband were both in their thirties, not just "kids" who didn't know better and screwed up; they actually had a plan, they actually were trying to do things right, they actually had a realistic dream of building a home and a life here in America, and bringing the rest of their families over to join them. Actually. Actually, they were thrown a curve ball. Her husband quit school once they learned they were having a baby and he went to work in the same nail salon so they could save as much money as possible in order to bring a family member over to help with the baby once he was born. They were struggling and hoped to be as prepared as possible once their son arrived. I told her that what mattered most was that their child felt love and I was certain he was going to have plenty of that.
We took some great photos and printed up a string of images for her to show her husband and some duplicates that she could send home to their parents in Vietnam. We were done taking "cute" pictures, and I noticed that she was shaking as she decided to sit down in the chair in the room. We were finished, but she stayed. She started to cry as she told me how scared she was. How much she missed her family and hadn 't planned for this at all. How tired she was. How her hands ached from working such long days and how the fumes in the salon made her head hurt. She quivered. I sat and listened. Then I assured her that yes, it can be scary and overwhelming, but it is all worth while. Her life was changing; she was a mother now, and when she held her son for the first time, when she looked at her boy, everything would seem right and she would know it was all going to be okay. I told her of my little one (not so little any more) and of some of the struggles we had faced and how there were times we ate the same thing for dinner every night for a week, but what mattered was that we were safe, healthy, and had each other. She hugged my neck and thanked me for listening and understanding. Tears filled her eyes as she told me that I was the first person to have listened to her since she came to America.
Before we opened the door to walk to the front office I told her how I admired her bravery and strength and I truly believed that God was with her and her family; that everything was going to turn out just fine.
At the end of my day, I reflected on how much we, in America, seem to expect to have this or that, to have it all, and how we expect to be treated...as though it is our right. We expect a baby shower for our baby. We expect our family members (at least our mothers) to help us out when the baby arrives. We expect to live in a nice house, work a decent job, have days off, and have our spoken language understood. We EXPECT. But, all Miss Li wanted was to know that she would be able to feed her baby and have a way to give him a home. She was happy with her tiny studio apartment and was grateful for the work, even the long hours she and her husband had to work. She didn't complain, she just worried; worried about the kind of life she would be able to give her son and the life her parents and in-laws back in Vietnam would have...and when they would finally be able to come to America, The Home of the Brave.
May we find gratitude for the simplest things in our life...and may we remember people like Li Tong who give everything they can to provide for their family and unborn children. Through courage and bravery they create a good life for their loved ones.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Broken Wings Can Fly
Working late, on a travel assignment in a level 1 trauma community hospital, the worklist piles up with ER patients, one pelvic ultrasound after another. Phone calls back and forth with each of their nurses to make sure the patient fills her bladder and DOES NOT go to the restroom until I do their exam. Busy. So busy that transport is too far back up that waiting for them to bring me my next patient only makes the night grow longer. The phone rings, and I am informed by the nurse, that bed 17 is ready, her bladder is full.
Arriving in the ER, I find the nurse to inform her that I will be taking bed 17 for her ultrasound now...
"Wait!!!!" she says, "she's bat shit crazy, a real bitch, you're gonna want me to medicate her first."
SERIOUSLY, quote on quote. Instantly, I got defensive for the patient's sake, even though I had never met her, but who are we to judge...we don't really know them. I asked the nurse not to bother with the meds and that I would be fine. She looked at me like I was the crazy one, "Sweetie, you are really going to wish I had." I smiled and told her it was okay.
Room 17: "Miss Janelle?"
"Yes."
"I am Stephanie from ultrasound and I am going to take you for your exam now."
She looked a bit rough, but there was light in her eyes. Tall, lanky, gaunt, younger than me, but not by much. She was tender and sensitive to me. She apologized for not having showered before coming in, she was worried that she would offend me in some way. We chatted all the way down the hall and into the ultrasound department. Everything seemed basically normal.
We started and she talked and talked. I listened. My heart started breaking for her, for her pain. Abandoned by her mother as a baby she was adopted into a very religious, striked, abusive family. They'd over medicate her with this drug or that, in the attempts of making her completely submissive. She felt dopey and out of it all the time. Confused. By the age of 12 they sent her away, unwanted, to a boarding school where she experienced things a child should never have to endure. Her parents never came to see her. Eventually she ran away from school and survived on the streets. She had an adoptive brother, whom she only really spent time with later in life, as an adult, because they had done the same to him. Druging him, abusing him and sending him away. She was close to him for the very fact that they both had been through hell, but he was messed up over it as well. She continued,
"I just wanted to be wanted. So I did anything to be liked. I thought that maybe if I found my birth mother, she would want me. So, I went looking for her. It was good to 'see' her, to find her, but the things she told me were devasting. She blamed me for her life being so horrible. She told me I was the worst thing that every happened to her. She did not want me."
If anyone had a right to be "bat shit crazy" this poor girl did. But she wasn't. Surprisingly, she found a way to survive. She told me that one day, at rock bottom, after having been rejected time and time again, she simply decided that she had a choice. She could choose to be angry and feel sorry for herself, or she could choose to make her life the way she wanted it to be. She chose to LIVE and to make it the best life she could.
"Everything is a choice." She told me.
She admitted to being a "wreck" somtimes. She admitted to feeling "overwhelmed" sometimes. She admitted that it was not easy, she still struggled. She had been sober for nearly a year and was very proud of herself. She said she refused to the pain meds the nurse had wanted to give her, because she had had problems with addiction to pills in the past. She said she would rather feel pain and know she was alive and aware, then to numb the pain and risk slipping into the fog of the life she used to live. She was the group leader for a support group at a home for recovering addicts. Everyday she worked with people who she understood because of the hell she herself had been through.
"Janelle, so if you hadn't experienced the horrible things you did, you would not be able to help these people. You have obviously decided to take your bad times and turn them into a positive, a positive not only for yourself, but others." Then I asked her, "Don't you find it to be true that when we take our attention off ourself and put it on another, in the hopes of helping them, that we end up being helped as well?" She agreed, "Absolutely!"
I told her that I believed God had a special purpose for her and He was using her as an angel in the lives of many broken souls. I encouraged her and told her how proud I was of her choices. We talked and talked. There was not one crazy moment and I don't know who the nurse thought the patient was, but she was far from any form of a 'bitch' if ever there were one. I was blessed to hear her story. Tears filled my eyes, for I saw a beautiful delicate bird who had been tossed right out her nest, by her very own parents, then kicked around, stomped upon, her fragile wings broken into a hundred pieces, and yet, she had found the strength to mend, to heal, and was learning that even broken wings can fly. She made the choice.
There is a book I appreciate and use often, Heal Your Life. I told Janelle of this book and thought maybe she would like to use it with her groups. She sounded excited about it, but had a lot of questions as to where she could find it and what would it cost. I was impressed to make an offer, "Janelle, if you are comfortable giving me your address, I will mail one to you. Only if you are comfortable with it though." She couldn't ask for pen and paper fast enough.
In her vulnerable state, in her weakness, in her pain, I helped her to the restroom and assisted her in getting all cleaned up. New gown, new sheets, a new smile!
It was going to be her birthday at midnight...and when we returned to the ER it was officially her birthday! As I pushed her bed, I sang Happy Birthday, loud enough that everyone turned and stared. "It's HER Birthday!!!!" I cheered. She laughed. I laughed...totally embarrassed, but didn't mind, because I knew it made her feel special, like she mattered! As we passed the nurses' station, I chuckled inside as I imagined what the nurse for bed 17 was thinking now, "Now, they're both crazy!" Oh well.
As I was leaving her room, Janelle squeezed my hand and thanked me. I said, "I enjoyed every minute with you this evening, and thank you for sharing your story with me. Thank you for reminding me that the life we live is up to us and the decisions we make. I will never forget you. Have a very Happy Birthday..."
On my way back to the ultrasound department, I passed the nurses' station again, and there stood an ER physician lecturing the nurses. I have no idea why or for how long he had been talking to them, but what I heard was profound. He said with determination and authority (almost in frustration), "Remember...they are ALL God's Children."
I had to respond. I admired his attitude. I respected his motto...and the fact that he insisted on having his staff keep this in their minds as they treated their patients. The worse of the worse come to that ER; the homeless, the drunks, and a ton of inmates, shackled and escorted by guards. BUT, here, they are ALL to be treated equally, as "God's Children."
"Amen to that." I said as I walked by. By the time I reached the ultrasound department, I had to turn around. Something inside of me said to go back and speak with this physician. I had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But, I HAD to speak with him, a voice inside was telling me to. I reasoned, "Fine, if he is all alone in the physicians' work room, then I will. Fine." The chances of that were slim, since there was usually several physicians on, PA's, and numerous residents. But, as I came around the corner, there he sat; alone. Deep breath in, I approached, introduced myself, and shared the story I just shared with you. I started with how the nurse assumed the patient was a "crazy bitch" and how it offended me that someone would make such an assumption, for I held the same view as he, "They are ALL God's Children." I have no idea why I needed to talk with him, why I was impressed to share Janelle's story and to tell him the impact his words had had on me and the pricise timing of them as well, but God knows why. I know that when we were done speaking, I felt peace. I had followed what I was led to do, and I can only hope that our conversation had a ripple effect, like a pebble in a pond. I hope he keeps reminding those he works with that no matter the patients' status or sitauation, "They are ALL God's Children."
Janelle was a blessing to me that night...she has wings, and like an angel she graced me with her presence and shared her bravery and strength with me. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you Universe. Thank you, God.
(*names and places have been altered to protect the patient's identity)
Arriving in the ER, I find the nurse to inform her that I will be taking bed 17 for her ultrasound now...
"Wait!!!!" she says, "she's bat shit crazy, a real bitch, you're gonna want me to medicate her first."
SERIOUSLY, quote on quote. Instantly, I got defensive for the patient's sake, even though I had never met her, but who are we to judge...we don't really know them. I asked the nurse not to bother with the meds and that I would be fine. She looked at me like I was the crazy one, "Sweetie, you are really going to wish I had." I smiled and told her it was okay.
Room 17: "Miss Janelle?"
"Yes."
"I am Stephanie from ultrasound and I am going to take you for your exam now."
She looked a bit rough, but there was light in her eyes. Tall, lanky, gaunt, younger than me, but not by much. She was tender and sensitive to me. She apologized for not having showered before coming in, she was worried that she would offend me in some way. We chatted all the way down the hall and into the ultrasound department. Everything seemed basically normal.
We started and she talked and talked. I listened. My heart started breaking for her, for her pain. Abandoned by her mother as a baby she was adopted into a very religious, striked, abusive family. They'd over medicate her with this drug or that, in the attempts of making her completely submissive. She felt dopey and out of it all the time. Confused. By the age of 12 they sent her away, unwanted, to a boarding school where she experienced things a child should never have to endure. Her parents never came to see her. Eventually she ran away from school and survived on the streets. She had an adoptive brother, whom she only really spent time with later in life, as an adult, because they had done the same to him. Druging him, abusing him and sending him away. She was close to him for the very fact that they both had been through hell, but he was messed up over it as well. She continued,
"I just wanted to be wanted. So I did anything to be liked. I thought that maybe if I found my birth mother, she would want me. So, I went looking for her. It was good to 'see' her, to find her, but the things she told me were devasting. She blamed me for her life being so horrible. She told me I was the worst thing that every happened to her. She did not want me."
If anyone had a right to be "bat shit crazy" this poor girl did. But she wasn't. Surprisingly, she found a way to survive. She told me that one day, at rock bottom, after having been rejected time and time again, she simply decided that she had a choice. She could choose to be angry and feel sorry for herself, or she could choose to make her life the way she wanted it to be. She chose to LIVE and to make it the best life she could.
"Everything is a choice." She told me.
She admitted to being a "wreck" somtimes. She admitted to feeling "overwhelmed" sometimes. She admitted that it was not easy, she still struggled. She had been sober for nearly a year and was very proud of herself. She said she refused to the pain meds the nurse had wanted to give her, because she had had problems with addiction to pills in the past. She said she would rather feel pain and know she was alive and aware, then to numb the pain and risk slipping into the fog of the life she used to live. She was the group leader for a support group at a home for recovering addicts. Everyday she worked with people who she understood because of the hell she herself had been through.
"Janelle, so if you hadn't experienced the horrible things you did, you would not be able to help these people. You have obviously decided to take your bad times and turn them into a positive, a positive not only for yourself, but others." Then I asked her, "Don't you find it to be true that when we take our attention off ourself and put it on another, in the hopes of helping them, that we end up being helped as well?" She agreed, "Absolutely!"
I told her that I believed God had a special purpose for her and He was using her as an angel in the lives of many broken souls. I encouraged her and told her how proud I was of her choices. We talked and talked. There was not one crazy moment and I don't know who the nurse thought the patient was, but she was far from any form of a 'bitch' if ever there were one. I was blessed to hear her story. Tears filled my eyes, for I saw a beautiful delicate bird who had been tossed right out her nest, by her very own parents, then kicked around, stomped upon, her fragile wings broken into a hundred pieces, and yet, she had found the strength to mend, to heal, and was learning that even broken wings can fly. She made the choice.
There is a book I appreciate and use often, Heal Your Life. I told Janelle of this book and thought maybe she would like to use it with her groups. She sounded excited about it, but had a lot of questions as to where she could find it and what would it cost. I was impressed to make an offer, "Janelle, if you are comfortable giving me your address, I will mail one to you. Only if you are comfortable with it though." She couldn't ask for pen and paper fast enough.
In her vulnerable state, in her weakness, in her pain, I helped her to the restroom and assisted her in getting all cleaned up. New gown, new sheets, a new smile!
It was going to be her birthday at midnight...and when we returned to the ER it was officially her birthday! As I pushed her bed, I sang Happy Birthday, loud enough that everyone turned and stared. "It's HER Birthday!!!!" I cheered. She laughed. I laughed...totally embarrassed, but didn't mind, because I knew it made her feel special, like she mattered! As we passed the nurses' station, I chuckled inside as I imagined what the nurse for bed 17 was thinking now, "Now, they're both crazy!" Oh well.
As I was leaving her room, Janelle squeezed my hand and thanked me. I said, "I enjoyed every minute with you this evening, and thank you for sharing your story with me. Thank you for reminding me that the life we live is up to us and the decisions we make. I will never forget you. Have a very Happy Birthday..."
On my way back to the ultrasound department, I passed the nurses' station again, and there stood an ER physician lecturing the nurses. I have no idea why or for how long he had been talking to them, but what I heard was profound. He said with determination and authority (almost in frustration), "Remember...they are ALL God's Children."
I had to respond. I admired his attitude. I respected his motto...and the fact that he insisted on having his staff keep this in their minds as they treated their patients. The worse of the worse come to that ER; the homeless, the drunks, and a ton of inmates, shackled and escorted by guards. BUT, here, they are ALL to be treated equally, as "God's Children."
"Amen to that." I said as I walked by. By the time I reached the ultrasound department, I had to turn around. Something inside of me said to go back and speak with this physician. I had never seen him before and had no idea who he was. But, I HAD to speak with him, a voice inside was telling me to. I reasoned, "Fine, if he is all alone in the physicians' work room, then I will. Fine." The chances of that were slim, since there was usually several physicians on, PA's, and numerous residents. But, as I came around the corner, there he sat; alone. Deep breath in, I approached, introduced myself, and shared the story I just shared with you. I started with how the nurse assumed the patient was a "crazy bitch" and how it offended me that someone would make such an assumption, for I held the same view as he, "They are ALL God's Children." I have no idea why I needed to talk with him, why I was impressed to share Janelle's story and to tell him the impact his words had had on me and the pricise timing of them as well, but God knows why. I know that when we were done speaking, I felt peace. I had followed what I was led to do, and I can only hope that our conversation had a ripple effect, like a pebble in a pond. I hope he keeps reminding those he works with that no matter the patients' status or sitauation, "They are ALL God's Children."
Janelle was a blessing to me that night...she has wings, and like an angel she graced me with her presence and shared her bravery and strength with me. Thank you, Janelle. Thank you Universe. Thank you, God.
(*names and places have been altered to protect the patient's identity)
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