You know, I used to want to work at hospitals, back in the day, because I found hospital folks were generally more empathetic than other folks. I now work at a hospital and I’m finding that, one – our dreams rarely look like dreams when they become reality and, two – not everyone who works at a hospital is there because they want to help people.
I guess the thing that drew me to hospitals was because it was a place where I’ve often felt cared for, accepted, not judged. Whether it was getting my appendix taken out in Seattle or recovering from a hemorrhoidectomy in Somalia, I’ve often felt that hospitals were a place I never wanted to leave.
No one wants to end up in the hospital, sure. But there’s something special about having people check your blood pressure multiple times a day, asking you how you’re doing, giving you coping advice for getting through the worst of the pain.
If only strangers did that for each other in real life, in everyday interactions.
Imagine going to the corner store and the clerk behind the counter asks if there’s anything you’re frustrated about in your life that might be causing you stress.
What if you professor asked you, in between questions in class, how your family is, and what you’re doing to cope with the loss of a loved one.
It shouldn’t seem like such a fantasy scenario. Yet, we find it difficult to imagine such a concept. At least I do.
I know that people who work at hospitals are paid to ask you those questions, but that doesn’t make it feel any less like they care. They might care, or they might not, but it’s the fact that they’re asking questions that skip past social formality that makes you feel seen.
And really that’s all it’s about, isn’t it? Wanting to be seen. To have your existence acknowledged. To be told in so many words that you matter.
The world is often an intractable place. It’s not always easy to show your best face. Sometimes you break character. Sometimes your vulnerabilities come leaking through. Sometimes you just want to start confessing your every ache to the first person that walks by.
It feels good to be heard. To know that someone knows what you’re going through, even if they can’t relate. Because to be human means to struggle and to feel disconnected from the rest of humanity, which is also, simultaneously and paradoxically, feeling the same exact thing.
On a warm sunny Friday like today, I can’t think of anything better to do than to go for a walk outside with a coffee in my hand. To sit in the cool breeze and thank God for the blessings of this life. To let the soothing baritone of Sheikh Shuraim take me away. To give thanks for the hardships, because the rain wouldn’t taste as sweet if it weren’t followed by sunshine.
To walk in the rain gives me solace. To feel the cooling touch of those drops, an instant reminder of the many mercies conferred upon us by our ever-patient Lord…