Hospital visit for hand ache brings back heartache

Almost two years into my widowhood journey and I thought I had experienced and successfully dealt with most uncomfortable, awkward and emotional situations that I’d be facing alone. I naively thought I had all the tools in my toolbox ready to combat any situation I’d find myself in. To quote Helen Reddy: “I am strong! I am invincible! I am woman."

Turns out a recent visit to a local emergency department broke me. I was unprepared for the waves of emotions that kept breaking over me. I was a messy puddle. I hate being a messy puddle.

I had a simple mishap. I cut myself with pruning shears at work. While the cut hurt, I figured I’d apply pressure, get it to stop bleeding and put a Band-Aid on it. My hand, however, had other ideas. The injury bled through a few Band-Aid changes. It started throbbing. it was, quite simply, being an ass. And so, a few hours later, a colleague (who also happens to be a former emergency department nurse) said I should go in and get it stitched. And since it wouldn’t quit bleeding completely, I grumpily agreed. 

So I took my sunshiny self to a hospital about a five-minute drive from work and prepared to settle in for a long wait. Our healthcare is free but, unless it’s urgent care you require, the wait times can be long.

When the nurse had me take a seat in a treatment room, my conscious self caught up to what my subconscious self already knew: this was the first time I had been in an emergency department since My Favourite Husband (MFH) died. In fact, the last time I went to the hospital was when I sat with his body the night he died. 

I looked at the monitoring equipment, the bed, the bedside table. I stared at the hospital gown. As I did, all the tears I thought I’d cried in regards to hospitals and MFH returned. I remembered all the visits to the emergency department the first year he was sick. All the procedures. The blood transfusions. I remembered him becoming stable and those emergency department visits becoming more infrequent but still happening. I remembered coming to identify his body, hold his hand and having emergency department nurses bring me endless boxes of Kleenex as I tried to make sense out of something that shouldn’t have happened. 

I sat in my chair and cried. I connected with a couple of friends, one of whom relayed his own experience visiting a healthcare facility for testing with his daughter years after his fiancée died. The sights, sounds and smells of a hospital are unique and, because it’s a place many of us don’t visit often, buried memories can be unearthed quickly when we return. His experience helped calm me and the fact he was willing to share helped as well.

My crying slowed down and I did a bit of deep breathing because the reason I was there was for a simple pruning cut — nothing more, nothing less. 

As I settled my mind, a doctor with kind, warm brown eyes came in. He took one look at me and I asked why I was there. I apologized for my tears and he offered an invitation to listen should I choose to share. I did so, briefly, so he knew my tears were not because of my physical injury but due to an emotional scarring I thought I had healed. 

I didn’t go into great detail but he listened and assured me that whatever I needed to do in that room was perfectly fine. So I did. I stopped crying. And we talked about my injury. And as he cradled my hand in his so he could glue and bandage me up, I could feel his kindness. Not his pity but his kindness. He made me smile with his words and with his demeanour. He made the emergency visit less about MFH and more about why I was there.

Our encounter was brief. My wound was attended to and followup care discussed. He wished me well and then advised that I would need a tetanus shot and someone would be in to do that as soon as possible. 

When a young male nurse (I could’ve been his momma) came in to give me the shot, I will say that I’m happy that it’s administered in the shoulder and not the arse like days of yore!

I left the hospital exhausted, physically and mentally. There were so many emotions careening through me that I knew it would take every effort to simply drive home. 

I’m glad I had this experience when my physical injury was minor. I’m happy I've confronted time in an emergency department for the first time since MFH's death. I’m grateful for the support and love I get from my friends. The support was not in person and I’m glad it wasn’t. I needed to go through this on my own.

One more marker placed on the new road that is my life now.

❤️