I couldn’t stop the tears as they streamed down my face. When you are devoid of hope physically to the point where death becomes the better option, that is when you really feel the unbearably crushing weight of hopelessness. But it’s another thing entirely to add physically, to that list. It’s one thing to come to the end of yourself mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually.
It was in that moment that I reached my limit and became devoid of any and all hope.
#Faith evans you abandoned me how to
No one would listen to me long enough or try to understand my Spanglish closely enough to realize I desperately needed help, and I knew how to do it! But the language barrier, lack of knowledge, and my body literally being physically incapable of putting up any kind of a struggle, left me entirely helpless.Īnd so here I was, in this hard plastic chair, told to sit here and wait, for who knows how long, for a chest x-ray. I know the limits, and I had reached mine.Īnd I was in a place where they had all the resources to at least do something to help me, at the very least give me fluids and nausea medication, and I received nothing.
I know the human body very well, but even more than that I know my own body very well. I am an ICU nurse and a Cystic Fibrosis patient. After seeing a local physician, going to a different hospital the night before, and no one doing anything for me, this was my Hail Mary. But there was no place for that here and that was all I had been doing the past three days- lying down, knees to my chest, trying not to move- hoping and praying for the nausea and insane fatigue to release my helpless body. I had absolutely zero energy left to even be vertical. And if that wasn’t enough, my entire body just wanted to quit. My lungs were all but finished with the constant cough and mucus that plagued me just by simply breathing. The equally as constant diarrhea I had had for the past five days was apparently competing for first place, as my stomach roared uncontrollably. The constant nausea that I had had for the past three days was unrelenting. It was difficult to find the strength to be in an upright position, let alone standing and walking through the maze of this chaos they called an emergency room. Apparently the hospital didn’t believe in giving sick patients their own IV pole and insisted I carry my own IV bag around as they drug me along throughout the hallways- pointing and gesturing and sometimes yelling because I didn’t speak their language and couldn’t understand what they wanted me to do. With silent tears streaming down my face as I held my purse and sweatshirt in one arm with my other arm helplessly dangling from my side with an IV precariously placed in the exact spot that made bending my arm impossible, as I also tried to juggle holding my own IV bag in the crevice of that arm. No one seemed to care that I was on the verge of having a hysterical breakdown right there in the middle of the hospital. I felt chained to this hard plastic chair in a loud, cold hospital hallway in Spain. I tried desperately to control my breathing- as this was the only thing that I had any control over- and that was trying to escape me also as my body began to hyperventilate.
The end of myself-mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Until finally after two doctors visits and two different hospitals and emergency rooms, I found myself at my limit. As I flew out of that war-torn country, it was as if the spirit of death that hovers over the land grabbed whatever it could and clung onto me and slowly began to tighten its grip around my neck as I landed back in Spain. It had only been a week and a half ago while I was still in Iraq, when I began to feel this unfamiliar sickness creep in.
0 kommentar(er)
