Hospitals (a true story)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2exE-td4F3k

Maybe it is due to my general sense of emotional retardation. Maybe it is because I have spent too much time in hospital waiting rooms. Maybe it is the rain, the late night, the time of year. Whatever the reason...this video always makes me cry.

I really love music videos that tell a story. Yes, watching a band jam out for 4 minutes can be sweet, but I think a music video should be just as artistic as the song it is conveying. And this video succeeds. And it is especially close to my heart because of this past Spring semester.

It was an average day, a few weeks into semester, when I got word that something was wrong. My friend had cancer. There are no words to describe what I felt, especially since my old neighbor's/best friend growing up dad had died due to cancer when I was in Hungary. John Bruyette was an amazing man, full of life, laughter, and acceptance...he died and I couldn't even attend the funeral because I was half a world away.

So, I learned that my friend had cancer. And I mentally prepped myself for The Phone Call. When I saw she was calling, I went out into the less-used entrance of the Library Annex (by Meeter Lecture Hall). She was on serious painkillers, and I knew what she was about to tell me...but when the words, "I'm in the hospital. It is cancer" came over the phone, I lost it.

Later that day, I went with the other members of Sojourners' to visit her. We may be a bunch of alcohol consuming punks who don't know our heads from our asses, but we care for our friends and will stick with them in their time of need. Still, it was hard to see her there. Normally she is the epitome of life and love and laughter...but there she was, tubes stuck in her, looking weaker than I'd ever seen. She managed a weak smile when we came in, but she was hurting. She retold us all what had happened to her. It was exactly what she had told me over the phone, but it was evident that she needed to tell her story, to come to grips with its reality. There wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Due to the medication and the overall overwhelming nature of the situation, she was prone to panic attacks if there were too many people in the room. After a few minutes, we were all sent out into the Waiting Room. Bad coffee, worse TV, and year old magazines. I'm pretty sure we didn't say a single word to each other. Just looked blankly at the tiled floor.

It came time for us to leave. We four waited outside her room as the nurses took her bloodwork. In that sterile hallway, a housemate took me aside and asked me how I was doing. In the midst of this rollercoaster of emotion and tragedy, he still thought of others. I had been wrapped up in my own pain. To have him ask me how I was doing meant the world.

The next day, he and I went back to visit her before class. Even a day later, she was doing better. She could walk. And we walked her around the floor. She could smile again. And I guarantee you, there is nothing more beautiful in the world than seeing someone smile. She was still so exhausted and worn. We left, and I promised to visit the next day (Sunday) early in the morning to have a church service with her.

That night, we had a party at the Sojourners'. I was in mental/existential funk, so the alcohol really affected me. I was less drunk and more just...not there. I couldn't make decisions properly, in part due to the alcohol, but mostly because I just needed to disconnect. Anyway, the party ended up being really shitty, and I slept in my housemates room, got about 3 hours of sleep, before I woke up to go visit her in the hospital.

I must have been a sight that morning. I no doubt reeked of cheap booze. Disheveled hair. Unwashed clothes. I generally just looked like a sketchbag. But I showed up at about 6.45am, Bible in one hand, and Tennyson in the other. And we spent 4-5 hours together that Sunday morning. I read her some passages from Psalms about God's providence and care (were those passages for her or for me?). She made me crawl into bed with her and sleep for an hour. I held her hand as the nurses took her blood. I walked with her around the hospital floor and was generally a bad influence on her. I tried so hard to convince her to steal a nurses gown and a stethoscope and to go "diagnose" other patients on her floor. I made her laugh so hard, I was honestly afraid she wouldn't be able to breathe.

It was just amazing to see her transform over the course of 3 days. Day 1, she could barely smile, had no idea what was going on, and was the weakest I'd ever seen her. Day 3, she was outwalking me, laughing harder than ever, and her smile let me know that everything was going to be alright.


And for those of you keeping close attention to this insanely long post - this is the Tennyson I read. The Prologue to "In Memorian A.H.H."


Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me;
What seem'd my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.