How about some Chapstick?

It is important to figure out the difference between sympathy, support, and pity. What others give is not pity—only your perception makes it pity. If you perceive it and accept it as love and support you will be powerful. If you see it only as pity and reject it, you will be trapped in a dark place with no light to show the way out. People who accept love and support are stronger. They can fight diseases that nobody thought they could fight; they can recover faster and heal in ways that amaze and astound doctors and leave them with no solid answer as to why. It has been proven in studies time and time again. The truth is you can’t count on answers. Answers are always changing and not even the smartest docs in the world have all the answers. But when people offer support and care and love, you can count on that like a rock. It doesn’t change and it is always there.

People who accept love and support are stronger

When I got my infection I was strong at first—but I got lost in it—strength turned into a trap. I needed two things to get out of it. I did need answers, but I also needed the care of a stranger.

I was pretty listless even after they started treating me. The doctors didn’t know why. The infection was under control; I should have been getting better. I was depressed. I didn’t think I would ever get better. I spent 11 days alternating between lying there staring at walls, without even the energy to watch TV, and dragging myself out of bed to get new vomit basins and have my sheets changed because I had no control over my bodily functions or dignity. The doctors kept pumping fluids and electrolytes into me, sending me for scans, and making me drink vile concoctions for the scans, even though I begged them not to make me drink something that would only make me more ill. They tried to put an NG feeding tube in me, and they were somewhat successful, only I felt like I was choking so they pulled it back out, after which I utterly refused it.

After a while the nurses started to leave me alone. Nobody came by to encourage me to walk anymore or get out of my bed and sit up, let alone wash my hair or brush my teeth. It started taking longer for them to respond to my call buttons. The doctors were stymied, and I was in no real mortal danger, so they seemed to make fewer, briefer appearances. I felt weak and helpless. I just wanted it to be over.

I know what it’s like to want answers, but I can tell you that when you’re in that kind of a situation, answers are the last thing you care about. You want relief—a light at the end of the tunnel. Answers eventually healed my body, but my soul was also suffering, and answers don’t heal the soul. The answer and the light came at about the same time on the 10th day. The surgeons were finally stumped enough that they called my endocrinologist in to visit me. I love endocrinologists. They listen. He talked to me about what was going on and realized quite quickly that I was not getting my proper doses of cortisone (because I had had my adrenal glands removed in the 90s). He found the answer and left orders for the necessary changes.

On the same day a woman came to my room. She wasn’t a nurse. I’m still not sure who she was. She was elderly and looked at me with kind and sympathetic eyes. She asked if I needed anything. I felt like I did not want her pity. I looked away and told her “no”. I didn’t want to need anyone. I didn’t want to be a burden. I was going to stoically get thru it on my own. I had even started telling my husband not to bother coming in, since there was nothing he could do.

The woman, however, did not give up. “Maybe some Chapstick?” She asked. Suddenly I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Only moments before, I had really longed for a tube of Chapstick. I was dehydrated, not allowed to even drink water or suck on an ice chip, and my lips were very dry and cracked. I would have given anything for Chapstick. But I couldn’t get it for myself and I hadn’t wanted to ask anyone. And here she was, a stranger, who empathized with me enough to know exactly what I needed at that moment. I felt like someone understood and sympathized, and I realized that to say “yes, please help me” was not being weak. In that single moment she helped me find my way out of the dark place I had been holed up in.

I reconnected with another human and I let her see my “weakness” and my need. And after that, I had hope. I knew I would get better. I realized that the pain and suffering of surgery and infection would eventually be barely even a memory. By letting go of my need to be “strong”, I found real strength again. You might explain my rapid turnaround (within 1 day, I had completely recovered) by the fact that I was getting the proper meds again, but I know in my heart that I also needed to let go of all the pent up anguish inside me, which I never could have done without admitting to myself that I needed the care and support of someone else.

There are times to be strong and there are times to lean on others. Only with both can we find true strength.

As printed in the VHL Family Forum 19:3, August/September 2011. For permission to reprint, please contact VHL Family Alliance, editor@vhl.org. Further information is available from the VHL Family Alliance, info@vhl.org.

mystory