Front-line workers

Eleven years ago, I was in the ICU for eight days on a ventilator as a result of H1N1.  The day I was supposed to go home, I instead went into lung failure. I woke up in the I.C.U., drugged and afraid, seeing family in and out of my induced coma. It was petrifying, life-challenging and faith-affirming.  I have never been so afraid.

At the time, I had very long hair, and I had been in the hospital for over a week.  I felt like a grease ball, and despite the pain my body exuded, it was the disgusting feel of being less than human that overwhelmed me.  I was greasy, dirty and bound to a bed with a tube in my lungs breathing for me. I had no power over my self-care.

On the third day of my stay in the I.C.U., my nurse came in with a plastic bag, shampoo and some rubber bands.  She told me she was going to wash my hair.  It was like an answer to my prayers.  I was going to feel human again.  Very carefully, she used a hose from the sink to wet my long, thick tresses over the protection of a plastic bag.  Her fingers massaged my head.  Her words soothed me not to worry about the mess.  The tenderness was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Once she washed and rinsed my hair over the bag, she put it in a ponytail. I felt like a woman again, instead of just a specimen. I.C.U. nurses are personal and exceptional.  They commit themselves to you while you stay in their care, and it is as though you are the only person that matters.  I do not remember the name of the nurse, and her face lives on in my memory.  Her gentle touch, her love, her consideration; all things that changed my mentality during a frightening, fragile time.

We are in the midst of a pandemic where family can't be with their families while they suffer and sometimes die.  These nurses are the saints that transition the suffering from this Earthly pain to a greater existence.  Had I not survived,  that hair washing would have been one of the most precious moments of my life. The compassion, the love, the consideration... nurses are the angels among us.

I have never forgotten the experience.  I WILL never forget the experience.  Do not forget the women and men on the front lines, helping some live, and holding hands when there is no hope.  It is all precious.  There is no doubt, love comes in many forms. It is coming tenfold in the reality we face now.  Don't ever forget.  Don't ever stop your gratitude.  My hair, clean as it may be, is never as preciously clean as that day in the I.C.U.  May those who must face that reality in the I.C.U. know such warmth.  It is a fire that continues to blaze within; with love, with gratitude, with amazement.