Friday, February 14, 2003
Valentine to a Nurse
I had to have an eye operation last week.
As operations go, this was probably one of the easiest operations there is. Only about ten minutes of surgery. Minimal discomfort.
One thing about it that made me particularly, shall we say, anxious, was that I would have to be awake during the operation.
Now, I realized that this anxiety was actually silly. Being put to sleep for an operation is actually far more dangerous. Nonetheless, Silly was running conceptually amuck, and Serious had to do a lot of inner hand-holding.
Serious wasn't the only one doing hand-holding. One of the nurses was also holding my hand, from the time I was wheeled into the Operating Room, to the time I was wheeled out. That, in fact, was her only responsibility. And it was a deeply comforting, compassionately discharged responsibility. She didn't need to talk. Since one of my eyes was covered and the other being operated on, we couldn't see each other. But the contact was connection enough.
Those ten minutes held some big lessons for me: I learned a little more about the relationship between Serious and Silly, and how useful a friend Serious can be. I learned a lot more about the medical profession.
Despite all its technology and scientific method, a simple touch is as integral to the healing experience as the most sophisticated of machine. And it was in the hands of a nurse, the lowest paid, the least respected members of the medical establishment, that my soul found comfort and my spirit the strength to endure.
As operations go, this was probably one of the easiest operations there is. Only about ten minutes of surgery. Minimal discomfort.
One thing about it that made me particularly, shall we say, anxious, was that I would have to be awake during the operation.
Now, I realized that this anxiety was actually silly. Being put to sleep for an operation is actually far more dangerous. Nonetheless, Silly was running conceptually amuck, and Serious had to do a lot of inner hand-holding.
Serious wasn't the only one doing hand-holding. One of the nurses was also holding my hand, from the time I was wheeled into the Operating Room, to the time I was wheeled out. That, in fact, was her only responsibility. And it was a deeply comforting, compassionately discharged responsibility. She didn't need to talk. Since one of my eyes was covered and the other being operated on, we couldn't see each other. But the contact was connection enough.
Those ten minutes held some big lessons for me: I learned a little more about the relationship between Serious and Silly, and how useful a friend Serious can be. I learned a lot more about the medical profession.
Despite all its technology and scientific method, a simple touch is as integral to the healing experience as the most sophisticated of machine. And it was in the hands of a nurse, the lowest paid, the least respected members of the medical establishment, that my soul found comfort and my spirit the strength to endure.
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