Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Life In it's Circles

So here I am. I need to write something. It's kind of stuck inside of me, and I'm not sure how to find it. I just know it's in there somewhere, but as you've seen in the past, I usually manage to find it by the end of the post.

I'll start off by just telling you about life. First off, I got over my cold, and that was fabulous, but I seem to have relapsed, though everybody keeps telling me that their colds were two-part as well, so who knows what's going on. Now I feel crappy, my throat is sore, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to miss voice tomorrow. In spite of that, it has been a good day. I had my flute lesson, at the end of which I began to feel randomly dizzy-ish and sort of vaguely nauseous. Weird. Well, my eyes have been strange lately anyway, so maybe it's partly that and partly this cold relapse. Ah well.

After trio and some hot chocolate and a big cookie down the street, we went to pick up our neighbour from the hospital where she was visiting her husband. That place makes me angry. It's a prison for sick people the way schools are prisons for people between 5 and 18. It is horrid, bland, pallid, and just gives off this aura of death. What a place for inspiring life and wellness!

I felt my soul drop, my heart plummet, and my spirits dive into the depths. How can anyone be cheerful there? And no one seems to care about anyone else at all. It is SO frustrating, to be there and to not be able to do anything except smile. And I know people appreciate that, but it doesn't change anything, you know? I see tiny bald ladies with half their teeth missing, chattering quietly in some foreign tongue to their fat, bearded, haggard husband, and people who's skin is almost purple, desperately sucking away at the oxygen. I see nurses nonchalantely meandering down the hallway; smugly, like they have hardened their heart to every soul in the building. To them, it's just another body to stick some needles in. It's not a soul, a life, a creation that they are stabbing, it's just...a body. So what is it to them when one dies? Is it still just 'a body'? What gives it life, or breath, or song?

Some part of me wants to go and release each of those souls into some endless bliss and utter beauty, and I know that in one roundabout way, I suppose I can at least try, but they still sit there in agony. I long to reach out and give each one of those feeble-boned creatures in that hospital a sunny day to call their own. I long to give them youth and vibrance and love and joy, and all the things that we are supposed to have. It just makes me so mad that anyone could be so cold.

And then I read posts about how people cope with death, and how beautifully they have reconciled the loss of a life. How they manage to hold tight to their ideals of beauty, and keep death as a positive step in a journey, not an end to a cruel period of time. When in this life I must deal with death, as I know I will, I want it to be, a beautiful time--no matter how sorrowful, I still want it to be beautiful. It's funny, isn't it, how some people have no hope? Though their heart knows that eternal life is true, they can't believe it, or understand it, and somehow to them, when someone dies, life just ends? I can't understand that. Our God is much bigger than that. Surely we have a responsibility to open people eyes to that truth.

What am I trying to say? I don't know. I see no end, no light, no hope, like it is an eternal set of dominoes endlessly falling. I know we have a hope in our Saviour, but for the moment--this moment--it feels bleak. I am usually so intent on changing the world, making it a better place, doing my part, helping the individual, making peoples days bright, but right now, I feel stuck, I feel frustrated, and inhuman.

I just want something to change. Now.

I think I'm just going to have to run away. Sometimes I think that when you can't fix something, you have to just escape for a while. Maybe I'll build myself a cabin in the woods, and surround myself with a big vegetable garden and a dog that needs to go for walks, and make beautiful music for all the birds to hear.

Rainbow hugs,


Idzie said...

First off, *hugs*, since it sounds like you need some.

I've always hated hospitals, hated how they smell, hated the colour on the walls, hated it all. Hospitals are not pleasant places. It does bother me how cold nurses often seem, but not as much as it could since I've heard first hand how tough it is. My mom nearly finished her nursing course years ago, but after actually working in the hospital, she no longer wanted to be a nurse. She hated a lot of the stuff she saw, hated the way that the family's of the patients were often treated, and hated how little power nurses had. The doctor's word is law, and if a nurse doesn't agree with the ethics of it, tough. I think to work in that type of environment, they probably have to harden their hearts and pretend that those they are treating are nothing more than bodies, or lose their sanity entirely.

I hate how our health care works, because as you said, a hospital is no place to get well in.

Lots of hugs,

Cowgirl_E said...

I strongly disagree with some aspects of your post, but as it is much past bedtime and I fear my brain is not being quite as submissive as I would like, I think I'll postpone. I'll be back. =)

Sheila said...

Hey Erica,

Please don't be offended by this post. I understand that you are a CNA. :-) Neither am I saying that all nurses are cold-hearted. It is simply a longing I have to reach out to humanity and help. Can't wait to hear what you have to say! Hugs!

jen said...

Dear S,
That is just *so* weird; I was telling Garry tonight all about how my parents were designing hospitals and homes for the aged when I was your age, and their entire design DREAM was to make all hospitals and rest homes absolutely sunny, streaming with light and hope, and comforting and helpful and open and full of gardens etc. Their work was "people centered design" in an area of architecture that was filled with horrible green painted walls and bare light bulbs, dark stairwells, and too few windows that let the nature and wellness IN. Funnily enough, they went a bit broke after 1978 as their main work was for the Canadian government, and all of a sudden the budgets were all cut. Garry and I happened to have been talking about how grateful I had been to be born in the hopeful '60s and still grooving on the new hope of the '70s arty-helpful stuff, and because of the luck of my parent's dream, I'd thus far been having such a glorious arty childhood (what with all the music lessons and dance, gymnastics and sailing summer courses etc. when my parents had had world war two on top of London instead.) But the government changed its budgetary focus and hospital re-designing money diappeared. So you can see it's all a big circle. You're noticing now what my mother noticed about hospitals, and decided to do something about, around the 1940s!! And then I think about how "full circle" that is.
And what a wild co-incidence that Garry and I were probably talking about that very topic right when you were thinking about it.

I've been trying to get my specialist-design Architect mom (at 77 yrs old) to consider writing a book on her dream of making hospitals and old folks homes better, since it was always her passion. I wish she would but she's tired....doh! :>)
Just had to share the strange serendipity of it all.
Best, Jen

Sheila said...

Jen: UNITY of HUMANITY. Thoughts are powerful. There's always a connection. Amazingly true!!!

jen said...

Totally dude, totally. J. :>)

beautifulgraceblog said...

I love how you're standing in a lake in a pretty red dress.


Sheila said...

Maria...that's the ocean. :-) Thanks!