I met someone today. A person full of compassion. In the system. A person whom I thought was causing me inconvenience, because I had to go see him, a review costing me time, energy, money, effort, a journey. The customary five or ten minutes review which cynical, fed up, mood effected patients like me rail against, because I was having to leave the comfort of my home, the safety of my walls, the wired up connectivity of satellite Sue to the outside world through my phone, laptop, Mac….. my bubble.
Leave my bubble! Never. Not able. Has to come with me. Sure I’m in it! When you look at me, what do YOU see? Did you know me before I was in this bubble? Who knows if they really know someone before they end up in this shimmering fish tank, sensing being alive, wide-eyed, gazing out at the familiar going on all around them, continuing sorely, jealously, relentlessly, going on, regardless. If you didn’t know me before I slipped into this…. zam ball place ( I make up words all the time folks, they just come out of me!) it looks like we might be becoming acquainted here.
Sometimes I let someone at least put their hand on the bubble, or the beam of their vision to infiltrate my bubble’s protective surface, or even allow their presence to stroke and explore for any porous route in, or out.
Compassion did it for me today.
The man of compassion looked at me and his words found the pliable, putty around my bubble, gently, very gently prodded, nearly to the point of touching the ME inside my bubble, without the slightest threat that it would burst. My bubble I mean.
‘ You shouldn’t be in this position.
You’re young, and fit’
I’m fit! Someone just told me I’m fit. Never in a gym in my life. A couple of yoga classes along the way. But today, I’m fit.
In someone’s compassionate eyes, I’m fit.
And you know what, I’m fine. My right leg drags and doesn’t want to lift off the ground more than an inch at a time, feels three times its weight when I try to lift it, but today it lifts, because he told me, I’m fit.
Man of compassion.
“Shouldn’t be in this position”.
Neither should the twenty nine year, young, muscular, tattoed, guy in the corner of the waiting room, neither should the five year old girl holding her doll, nor the white haired granny who has lived a good life with her long innings behind. At fifty five, I come in the middle of this spectrum, maybe the one balancing it all out? Yes, that could just be me. Not someone else. My bubble was pinched today, and I actually discovered it is really me in there.
‘Did you think the treatment worked?’
Not really! Couldn’t see much difference.
‘You walked in here better than you did last time’.
I did? You remember me walking in last time?
Man of compassion.
So I’m fit! This pleases me. And your words made my leg lift higher.
I need you. I’ve been saying… one foot in front of the other… all along.
I have to be able to lift my leg to carry that off.
And I’m fit now.
So…….. I can.