I’ve always been a light crier. Sometimes I state that a bit differently – sometimes the desensitization that life in our modern world seems to demand is a skill that I am lacking.
Thinking about the health care workers who have been so kind to me in these intimate moments and who I will never see again.
When I had the ultra sound, the room was dimly lit, and thus my tears escaped notice. Or did they? Is it better for them not to be noticed? A sympathetic reaction seems to provoke more tears. Or is it better to acknowledge them, and thus have the expression of human feeling be an exchange of communication, a sharing? I’m having this emotion – is it private, do I want it to be private, or is it a time to offer heartfelt compassion? Gosh, putting it that way, I’ve answered my own question, huh?
After all, I felt silly crying in those medical exams. I’d had ultra-sound before. It’s pretty routine, not scary. Of course what was scary was the thought that it might find something. And the stress – with them peering, looking, like through the periscope in a tense submarine movie, they really expected to find somet
Of course there’s the practicality of my crying being noticed.
If I am lying on my back and weeping, I’m going to need some hankies and will need to blow my nose.
What really should someone ask? “Are you ok?” Can I get you anything? (Yes, hankies) Or something reassuring “it’s OK” when of course – it might not be, and anyway, I need those hankies. The gentle squeeze of the shoulder is a nice thing – boy am I noticing that. It’s hard to think that strangers can be caring – after all we spend so much time learning not to trust or believe strangers – even our friends and loved ones – but sometimes people quite simply are.
Could I track down that Irish nurse who squeezed my hand so reassuringly, to thank her?
There is the embarrassment that it is difficult to talk while crying. I mean I don’t want to start sobbing out loud. It’s not a crisis; it is an ordinary moment, in many ways.
There is the odd sensation – the physical sensation of the tears rolling down and pooling in my ears, indeed, filling my ears, drop by drop.
Away from the hospital, from the exam table, I am still capable of surprising myself with crying. Waking up crying just being struck by the realization that I’m sick – I don’t feel sick, I just have to grasp that fact. Wanting to learn more about my cancer, but reading can trigger tears – I am going to go through all this? But I feel so well. As I work to grasp it all, I am just very grateful to have the wonderful support of my family and friends.
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