Giving Thanks

 

Sitting here in my nook with the sun peeking in and out of the clouds shining on piles of fall leaves, I sigh. It’s a sigh of relief and gratefulness. I am here. I am alive. I am getting stronger everyday. These are things I used to take for granted. Now I don’t. 

Last month, I was home recovering from major surgery on my colon. Even though I wasn’t able to do much but sit in bed or a chair, I was so thankful to be home. I was so glad that all the infections and pain I’d suffered with in my body for over a year were finally fixed. 

Thankful for great nurses and doctors. 

All of my nurses and aides on the 7th floor west at St. Vincents were wonderful. They were there for me day and night. They delivered more than antibiotics. They delivered kindness and caring and emotional support. They listened to me and shared and chatted with me, too. 

And one night in particular, which I didn’t think I’d get through, they were with me all the way. They came in and out in a steady stream, taking care of me. Their expertise and team work was amazing. They were ‘on it’ at all times. I was terrified and they were calm. That reassurance helped me believe I would be alright. 

My surgeon is a hero in my mind. He saw the problem, at last, and knew how to fix it. And it was not an easy fix. It was a scary scenario but he went in and fixed it all. It was so good to see him pleased with the result. And afterwards, he made sure I got the best post surgical care, too. I give thanks for his expertise everyday. 

Giving thanks for my stubbornness. 

I will start out by saying, it wasn’t easy to get help. I was tossed from one urgent care, express care, nurse practitioner to another. I kept describing my pain and problems and got handed a prescription. Tests were done and some came back positive and most were negative.

Seeing so many different people in different places made it even harder. I was misdiagnosed which made me question the healthcare system. And myself. But I was stubborn. I kept trying to get help. I am thankful for all the antibiotics, they kept me alive. 

And thankfully, finally a CT scan illuminated the problem. And I am now recovering and fine. 

Finally. 

I give many, many thanks:

For a talented surgeon,

The specialists on my surgical team,

All the nurses and aides on St. V 7th floor west,

You saved me, reassured and comforted me,

And shared stories and smiles, one of the best medicines. 

Easily Dismissed

I  sit here looking out the window from a hospital bed.  Watching the fog move over and around the trees, some turning red and yellow, some green, I wonder how did I get here? It’s a long story filled with fear and confusion and, yes, sexism. 

You see, I am a 69 year old woman. I have grey hair and grandchildren. I am considered and dismissed. I am not seen as valuable or vital or powerful. 

And it pisses me off.

Working women unite. 

Remember the ‘Women’s Movement’? I was one of those women. I went to rallies. I marched. I was going to change the way it had been because my generation of women were serious and dedicated to advancing right along side the men. 

And I did. 

I started in college as president of Women In Communications. I worked at the college newspaper, radio and TV stations. I won an award for a public service TV spot about ageism. And how important it was for people of all ages to be valued. Funny that I should find now, decades later, nothing has changed the negative view of older people. 

I worked in advertising writing copy for newspapers, radio and TV. I handled some of the city’s biggest clients. I won local, regional and national awards. I wore a suit. I carried a briefcase. I also handled broadcast production writing, directing and editing. 

Then I had a baby and it all changed. Why? I didn’t want to park my babies in daycare five days out of seven. I had worked in a daycare center in high school, so I knew a little more than others how that worked. Yes, there are many dedicated teachers and childcare workers, I know because I was one of them but there are also those who are there to do as little as possible. And those who treated some children terribly. 

I couldn’t let that happen to mine. So I freelanced in advertising while taking care of my babies. 

Not easy to do then. No email or internet or remote work yet. I did my best. When that door closed on me, I went back to school. 

Another creative career. 

My goal was to do art residences. My teacher said, do your art first. So I did. I painted and sculpted and, yes, wrote. I’ve been showing my art in galleries and shows and doing residences for over 20 years now. I love it. And I’m still doing it.

My art has changed over the years, as I’ve changed. I went from painting to sculpting to throwing clay. But one change has hit me hard: ageism. 

“You remind me of my mother, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

That’s exactly what a doctor told me 8 months ago, when I went in with bladder pain. He did a test he said would come out negative. It was positive. On and on and on I went from doctor to doctor, clinic to clinic, urgent care to urgent care, being given antibiotics and sent home with the words, it’s not a problem. 

And because I’m a gray haired lady, my symptoms were, like me, dismissed. And because I was told that over and over it was not a problem, I started to deny my own pain and believe it. 

Until finally, a doctor in the hospital ER said, you need an operation. Scary, yes. But now, I sit recovering from a colon operation. I had a great doctor. I was moved to a floor with incredible nurses who listened and helped me so much. 

I was, finally, not dismissed. 

I’ve felt so much fear and confusion and pain. And now, anger. 

What could have been done to save me from this situation?

Maybe being a man?