Sometimes, there are moments I wish I could take back and do-over. Press life’s Rewind button.
Today, we went to the hospital to get the Boy’s stitches removed (he had minor surgery a few weeks ago and was in for a routine screen). I hate hospitals. Especially urgent care (emergency) rooms. They are creepy. A symbol of pain, heartbreak, stress. I’m one of those people who can walk into a room and instantly feel the emotion of the place. Emergency rooms are not zen, no matter how nicely they’re decorated or how many fun magazines there are on the tables. They make me instantly anxious, so much so that I feel nauseous.
There was a lady in front of us at check-in who was being helped out of a wheelchair. She must have been in her mid thirties and clearly in a lot of pain. Tears rolling down her eyes, she shuffled slowly into a room out of sight. My imagination started running wild with possibilities. What could have happened to her? Why is she here alone? Did someone hurt her? A few minutes later, she was asked to sit in the waiting room across from me (the Boy had gone in to see someone at this point and it was just me and her, with the TV blasting in the background). She looked away, ensuring I wouldn’t see her face and she sat there hunched over, clutching her stomach. I could hear her sobbing.
So much of me wanted to reach out to her and ask what was wrong. I was in agony for her. I could feel her pain from across the bright, lifeless room and I wanted so badly to touch her and give her whatever comfort I could provide. But another part of me feared getting too close. I feared that I was intruding on her privacy, I feared the possibility of being exposed to a world and life much less innocent and different from my own, I feared her pain. My heart was breaking. For her. And because I was so disappointed in myself for my own cowardice.
A few moments later, a nurse came by to give her some medicine and the Boy came out with a happy smile on his face. We could go now. Everything was fine.
Except that it was not.
The moment had passed.
Compassion and love could have been exchanged in that moment, in a time and place when they were needed most, but now the chance will be lost forever. It’s been a few hours now and I am still feeling ill from the experience. Terrible. I couldn’t find the courage to risk my own fears so that I could relieve the pain of another.
I hope the next time, I will be different. =(
