I am thankful for 911 operators. I am thankful for fire fighters. I am thankful for paramedics. I am thankful for Emergency Room personnel. I am thankful for teaching hospitals like University of Washington’s Medical Center. I am thankful for the intelligence of the dozens of doctors I saw, especially thorough Emily, the Resident, and self-possessed Mayan, the Chief Resident. She turned things around when she decided we should talk to “smarter people” to get a clearer diagnosis. I am thankful for the skill and compassion of Intensive Care Unit nurses, especially Marlo, Kathy, Angela, and Amelia. In my delirium, I may have professed love for each of them. I am thankful for the vigilance and kindness of nurses on 6 NE, especially Nick and Risa. Fully conscious, I asked Risa if I could take her home with me.
I learned that advocacy never sleeps, even when the advocate is spent. I had to explain my rare neurologic condition to health care professionals in an emergency situation, and I learned to do so clearly and succinctly and repeatedly. I learned to question doctors, one who kept offering a preliminary diagnosis that made no sense to me. I was glad when a colleague later admonished him, saying, “What the Hell is not a diagnosis.” I learned to summon the strength to correct a highly-agitated ICU doctor who asked if I was “wheel-chair bound.” Though I was in considerable distress, I replied, “You should be careful about your language. I am not wheelchair bound. I am a wheelchair user.” He nodded, “Fair enough,” and conceded the point. I learned to correct occupational and physical therapists who assumed I was “home bound.” I noted that I get around quite well when I’m not doubled over in pain.
I am grateful for the constant calm of Leslie who stayed with me and soothed me. She watched over me and curled up beside me through some very long nights. I am grateful for my Papa who traveled across the country in answer to the distress call. He is vigilant in his love and unwavering in his loyalty. I am grateful for Chris whose role in my life defies easy definition. She knows when to bring poetry and when to serve snacks and when to save me the sports page. I am grateful for my family for reminding me that I am not alone. I am grateful for my in-laws who closely followed my progress and made sure I came home to flowers. I am grateful for my friends who gave Gus canine sanctuary as well as regular updates on his doings.
I will always work to be an individual, not a category or a condition. I will push to recover my former strength and good humor. I will try to keep my spirits high so that I can soon enjoy the teeming life beyond the windows of my condo in Pioneer Square.
We love you, Randy! You are, and will always be, an inspiration. Sending hugs and healing…
What a wonderful summation of how you view yourself and the world. I admire such clear-sightedness and spunk.
Yeaahh Randy. Glad you straightened those suckers out about “what is a diagnosis??” Every doctor has to have a working diagnosis in order that his patient and he survive and give the best for the patient. He may be wrong, but he can correct his mistakes by talking to other docs, techs, and nurses with more expertise and experience. That’s how the system goes. (By the way you have written a great piece. Thanks.)
I forgot to thank the transfer staff. These are the folks who move you from stretcher to bed and ferry you around the hospital for tests. They were particularly gentle with me. “Little bump,” the guy at my feet would warn as we moved from building to building. I told him, as a wheelchair user, I was all-to-aware of how a bump can become a barrier, how they can jar a body and unnerve a soul. They always counted down from three before expertly lifting and placing me from one surface to another. It would have been easy to feel like a sack of potatoes or an over-fed seal. Instead, I felt like a precious and fragile being. I was handled with the most exquisite care.