healing on time
Though I really wanted a blog of my very own, I've been slow to post. It's tiring to type w/1 hand, but I'm getting used to it.
I go to the neurologist on tues. I'm, sure he'll tell me that my nerves will heal in time, and I'll nod and politely say 'thanks, here's 500 dollars." I have insurance that costs a lot yet each year the benefits dwindle. I'm lucky to have it at all, and goodness knows that if I were Queen of the Universe, health care would be accessible to everyone, every single person. I would figure out how to make this happen, I'm quite the problem solver.
I already know that my nerves will heal in time. Mine have done it before, we know the routine. They grow 1 inch /month, this means that my sleepy little finger will have a rebirth in 6 months. My boyfriend and I did a nerve test w/a paper clip and I started feeling the point just a bit away from my wrist - 6 inches=6 months. If the neurologist tells me different, I'll ...Well, I'll be surprised.
Speaking of rebirths - at the homeless center, I saw one...
When I first began as "Wednesday girl" as they call me, on my very first full day, I met a lot of people, many I now call friends. I look forward to seeing them each week, I worry about them if they aren't there.
S. however, was a bit of a challenge. On that first day, she wandered in with all the others when the doors opened, and she sat on the chair by my desk. She muttered under her breath, "stop lookin at me bi*&h, f&*k you, what you lookin at?" I would just tell her I was sorry and go on about my business. Another volunteer came in and told me S. was actually "banned". They said to watch out cause she hits people, hard.
I just let her sit there and left her alone except
to bring her cookies and lunch.
On my second week she came back and she was again muttering angrily, this time she kept saying how bad we all smelled. I didn't tell her that it was actually her that smelled so bad. I heard more stories about her, how she was in the psych hospital until they could no longer keep her legally, then they'd let her out and she would slide back into her own private turmoil. Still she didn't scare me, I figured this was just part of the learning. It would be two weeks before I'd see her again.
Last Wed. I heard a voice I recognized, but I couldn't place the face. The Priest had the same reaction when a clean, well dressed, impeccably groomed woman came up and said "Hello". I asked her what her name was and it was S. She laughed at us. She was off crack and on her meds. She did it all by herself, though with the help of some fabulous underpaid caseworker.
You see a lot of disappointed, sad, ill people at a homeless center. You love everyone of them and you cannot, fix, save or heal them. You learn that often the best thing you can do is to keep the doors open and keep the conversation and cookies flowing. Last week I learned that healing happens whether I do anything or not, I just open the doors. It's pretty wonderful to see.
I go to the neurologist on tues. I'm, sure he'll tell me that my nerves will heal in time, and I'll nod and politely say 'thanks, here's 500 dollars." I have insurance that costs a lot yet each year the benefits dwindle. I'm lucky to have it at all, and goodness knows that if I were Queen of the Universe, health care would be accessible to everyone, every single person. I would figure out how to make this happen, I'm quite the problem solver.
I already know that my nerves will heal in time. Mine have done it before, we know the routine. They grow 1 inch /month, this means that my sleepy little finger will have a rebirth in 6 months. My boyfriend and I did a nerve test w/a paper clip and I started feeling the point just a bit away from my wrist - 6 inches=6 months. If the neurologist tells me different, I'll ...Well, I'll be surprised.
Speaking of rebirths - at the homeless center, I saw one...
When I first began as "Wednesday girl" as they call me, on my very first full day, I met a lot of people, many I now call friends. I look forward to seeing them each week, I worry about them if they aren't there.
S. however, was a bit of a challenge. On that first day, she wandered in with all the others when the doors opened, and she sat on the chair by my desk. She muttered under her breath, "stop lookin at me bi*&h, f&*k you, what you lookin at?" I would just tell her I was sorry and go on about my business. Another volunteer came in and told me S. was actually "banned". They said to watch out cause she hits people, hard.
I just let her sit there and left her alone except
to bring her cookies and lunch.
On my second week she came back and she was again muttering angrily, this time she kept saying how bad we all smelled. I didn't tell her that it was actually her that smelled so bad. I heard more stories about her, how she was in the psych hospital until they could no longer keep her legally, then they'd let her out and she would slide back into her own private turmoil. Still she didn't scare me, I figured this was just part of the learning. It would be two weeks before I'd see her again.
Last Wed. I heard a voice I recognized, but I couldn't place the face. The Priest had the same reaction when a clean, well dressed, impeccably groomed woman came up and said "Hello". I asked her what her name was and it was S. She laughed at us. She was off crack and on her meds. She did it all by herself, though with the help of some fabulous underpaid caseworker.
You see a lot of disappointed, sad, ill people at a homeless center. You love everyone of them and you cannot, fix, save or heal them. You learn that often the best thing you can do is to keep the doors open and keep the conversation and cookies flowing. Last week I learned that healing happens whether I do anything or not, I just open the doors. It's pretty wonderful to see.
Labels: life
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home