Something happened and it had me feeling emotional and off-balance last evening. I went into my colleague’s patient’s room to sign off on medication for his patient. Without thinking, because I’m a helper and not realizing that he was taking care of an end-of-life patient. I stepped into the room and I could hear what nurses refer to as “the death rattle.” It was as if someone connected me to a Bluetooth speaker. The sound was so loud that it overpowered everything else and the somber looks on the family’s faces. I suddenly felt a shortness of breath. Not just because of the distinct feel and sound of death lingering in the air, but because of the emotions, it triggered in me.
As nurses, we tend to develop this hard exterior and the innate ability to block things out. Sort of like a turtle that uses his shell for protection. We move instinctively without consequence in order to preserve our mental well-being. That didn’t happen for me last night. I felt paralyzed in pain. I wanted to be able to look at the family with love, compassion, and empathy for what they were going through at the moment. I just couldn’t do it this time. I suddenly felt a knot in my throat and took a deep swallow. I cared not to look at any one of them. I couldn’t! And I could see them looking at me from my peripheral. They looked as if they waiting for me to say hello, do you need anything, or just a look of I’m sorry for what you’re going through. Again, I didn’t have it in me. It took everything in me not to burst into tears. Instead, I only looked at the nurse and the IV pump. It seemed like I was in that room forever. I’m sure it was only five minutes or less, but it seemed more like five hours.
I could remember what it was like to be in the seats they now sat in. I remember the wait, wondering when and if it would be over sooner rather than later. I started clenching my teeth together to avoid crying. When I left out the room, I told the nurse that I was sorry, but I couldn’t go back in the room with him and find someone else next time. I explained that being in that situation was a trigger for me and I didn’t want to sit in that pain. Of course, he understood. The rest of the night was extremely difficult to get through. Mainly because of being tired, and I became severely sad.
There’s something about losing control. I don’t like it. I like controlling my emotions and feelings. I like the illusion of keeping myself in check. I abhor feeling a loss of control. It got so bac I started having chest pains. So, I decided to sit at my computer and just write all this for my blog. I listened to my gospel playlist and cried until I felt better. As much as we try to control things, it isn’t always possible. Actually, I realize that I’m not in control, no matter the persona of control I claim to feel. God was, is, and will forever be in control of Sharon. I am not my own and because I surrendered my life to God a long time ago, He reminds me every so often I start smelling myself, LOL! (That’s something my mom use to tell us as children when we were being rebellious and trying to act like adults. It’s a country thing I think, lol).
As much as influencers, social media, and whoever else try to depict a picture perfect world without hiccups, failures, stress, stressors or just plain bad days, I’m here to tell you they exist. People treat me like I’m so strong and have all my “ish” together all the time because I don’t show it, talk about it or let it be known, but that doesn’t mean I don’t go through things and you should know best because I share it with you:) The good news is, although I can’t give you a timeframe, I can tell you that it will eventually get better. Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. The caveat to that is that everyone’s morning is different and it may not involve daylight. It can happen when it’s storming all around you. Your morning won’t look like anyone else’s. Right now my morning is at 2:52 a.m. listening to Yolanda Adam’s “This Battle Is Not Yours.”
No matter what you or I go through, the battle isn’t ours, it belongs to God. The sooner we relinquish the reigns we hold onto, the sooner God can shine his light through and our morning can come. Thank you for taking the time to share in the many parts of my life’s stories. I hope, ultimately, that no matter how you felt starting to read this blog post, that you are feeling a fresh anointing and your morning has come. Take care of yourselves, be gentle with yourselves, and have a safe holiday.
Until Next Time,