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)