here is what tonight's reflection brought me.
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when i first met her, she was sitting comfortably in a hospital bed surrounded by pieces of home. a picture of her with her mother. a small bag filled with nail polishes and a zebra print nail file. {girls notice these kinds of things}. she was about my age and not particularly sick looking. she was hospitalized because her immune system, already primed to attack itself, was now attacking her blood cells. she was profoundly anemic and unable to provide enough oxygen to her vital tissues. the simplest maneuver, walking from her bed to the window left her gasping for air. this had gone on for weeks and she was tired. things were, however, getting slowly better....and after a few days of getting to know her....we were able to give the thumbs up for her discharge. she left the hospital with that blessing and also with a large pill bottle full of high dose steroids aimed at calming her body's sense to attack itself.
fast forward a month later, earlier this week, when i saw her back in clinic. she didn't look particularly different only now dressed in regular clothes. i followed her into the exam room and we started to catch up.
"how have you been?" i asked. excited. hoping that the medicines had done the trick. "ok, i guess." she paused. a long pause. "just ok?" i said. the pause continued and she lowered her glasses to rub her eye. "honestly, doctor murphy....these medicines make me feel like shit."
now it was my turn to pause. a long pause that rivaled the one before. before i could fully process all the thoughts running through my head....."i know exactly how you feel" is what came out. she looked at me, seemingly puzzled and the corner of her mouth lowered ever so slightly. "i'm just so tired all the time." she continued. "i know my bloodwork is looking better but i feel awful. i feel like this defective human being who can't do anything for herself."
that word. defective. harsh in its sound and delivery yet a perfect choice. "i know exactly how you feel." i repeated, this time more sure. she look at me with a furrowed brow and with a chuckle, said "how could you possibly know how i feel?"
it was a totally fair question. one that she was fully entitled to. even still it caught me by surprise and i fumbled for a second, not entirely sure of the right thing to say. i told her briefly of my seizure and how i, too, took medicine daily that didn't always agree with me. about the adjustment. about the way living with a chronic medical problem effects my life.
"you have issues, too?" she asked, as if i had just told her i once flew to the moon. {"loads of them" i giggled to myself}. "yep. sure do. we ALL do no matter what it looks like. you are not in this alone."
then she said the most amazing thing. "so underneath that fancy white coat, you're really just like me? damaged and imperfect but beautiful all the same?"
i literally fought back tears. right there in the middle of clinic. "exactly, my dear. exactly."
we are all damaged and imperfect. but beautiful all the same.
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speaking of beautiful....
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