Working on being a better patient.....

 

I have never been a very good patient.

This level of self-awareness is not new to me. 

No one enjoys being sick, but I may well be a bit more recalcitrant than most. Part of that is because I’m pretty active; being sick means that I necessarily have to interrupt my active routine. Part of it is because I’ve spent lots of time being a caregiver; being a care-receiver is still somewhat awkward for me. And, part of it is that I like to enjoy my down time, which is rather hard to do when one is feeling terrible. 

 

And so, on Sunday, when I got a little too warm in the middle of our worship service (Okay…maybe more than a little…layers of vestments do produce quite a bit of heat…), and a couple of wonderful physicians in our parish were giving me very worried looks – one insisting that a visit to the  emergency room was in order because my heart rate was a bit high (Well, yes, I’m sure my heart was racing, since we actually stopped the service for my little “episode.” How do you spell, EMBARRASSED?!) – I was not pleased about the prospect of being a patient, but I was compliant. If something really were wrong, I didn’t want my own stubborn refusal to be a cooperative patient to lead to my demise.

So off we went to the ER.

I learned a very important lesson: Never walk into an ER and say the word “heart” in any context unless you are actively having a heart attack. Never. Really.

If you say the word “heart” and you are not actually having a heart attack, you may well have one by the time the dedicated medical professionals get done putting you through your paces: EKGs, chest x-rays, blood work, and goodness knows what else. My husband and our younger daughter observed that every time members of this outstanding medical team came in to ask me about my chest pains (Huh? I never said anything about chest pains!), my heart rate would climb all over again.  And since all of this excitement kept my heart rate up for quite some time, the next thing I knew, a cardiologist (who, by the way, was absolutely wonderful) was standing over me suggesting a heart catheterization the next morning as a precaution.

And that meant, of course, that I was staying overnight. In a hospital. Something that I’d only previously done when I gave birth to our two daughters. All because I got a bit too hot and used the word “heart” (as in heart rate, not heart attack) when I came in.

 

I settled in for the night, but all of the attention I received didn’t exactly allow for a restful sleep.  Someone needed to draw more blood, someone else needed to check my vital signs, someone else needed to adjust the leads on the heart monitor that I had to wear all night.

 
When morning came, the great cardiologist was back, still thinking that the precautionary heart cath was a good idea. My husband and I nodded. What else could we do? He sent a quick text message to update our daughters, as the nurse dispensed my “relaxation” meds and hurried me off to the cath lab.

Thankfully, all of my test results were normal, and the heart cath turned up nothing other than a perfectly healthy heart – for which I am grateful. I managed to sleep rather peacefully all day…even though my “relaxation” meds really weren’t supposed to have that effect.  The nurse realized well into the afternoon, when I was still sleeping away, that she’d given me the “standard” dosage that she gave all of her cath patients – without double-checking my weight. After telling my husband that I probably only needed half the dose that she’d given me, she suggested that he keep an eye on me, as I might be a bit drowsy for a while. She wasn’t kidding…

I made it home after the great adventure, and will be staying put…for a couple of days, since I can’t drive yet post-cath. Day one has been filled with reading, prayer, and playing with the dog. Day two will likely look the same.

 

And life will begin to get back to normal by day three, when I can climb back behind the wheel of my Volvo and head back to the office…with a clean bill of health, a desk full of work – and profound thanks to everyone for all of the wonderful phone calls,  texts, emails, Facebook messages, meals, visits, prayers and loving thoughts that you’ve sent my way.  I’m really, really fortunate to have such loving friends – and such wonderful, caring physicians in our parish church.

But I will head back to “normal” taking nothing about being healthy for granted. I am well aware that the outcome of my little adventure could have been much different.

Today, I’m really working on being a better patient. These couple of days of being a quiet patient probably couldn’t have come at a better time.

And, hopefully, when these few days of being a patient are over, I'll retain the lessons of quiet and stillness that have been such wonderful gifts.

 

I hope, too, that my lunch-buddies will still indulge me in agreeing to lunch spots that have great salads…I’m still planning on eating healthy and pounding the pavement every day, for as long as I can.

As amazing as the medical team was, I’d really like to delay another trip to the hospital as a patient for as long as possible…..!

Surely, doors aren't still closed to some at University of Alabama...?

Me...and my sisters...at Rhodes College...

 

 

I really don’t want to believe it.

I really don’t want to believe that doors are still being closed to students of color at the University of Alabama.

Yet that’s exactly what major news outlets are alleging: Sixteen “traditionally white” sororities are said to have refused to extend membership invitations to young African-American women at the university during this year’s rush week.

I really don’t want to believe it.

Not in my home state. Not at the “jewel school.” Not in 2013, fifty long years after then-Governor George Wallace used his own body to close the university’s door to prevent African American students from entering.

And certainly not when one of those sixteen “traditionally white” sororities happens to be my own, and when the women inside that house are my sisters – members of Alpha Omicron Pi.

This is why I really don’t want – can’t bring myself – to believe this story: because I know that on college campuses across the country, young African American women are today – and have been for many years – pledging AOII and many of the rest of these sororities, and experiencing these lifelong bonds of friendship and sisterhood.

I really don’t want to believe this story because on the campus of my alma mater, Rhodes College, even over thirty years ago, young African American women, Jewish women, and women of Asian descent have been welcomed into Greek life.  

I really don’t want to believe this story because I am one of those women who found no door closed at Rhodes College.

Although I had no idea what my prospects might be, at the time that I went through rush on the Rhodes campus, I was fortunate enough (naïve enough...!) to have had no concept of just how unusual it might be for a “traditionally white” sorority to extend a membership invitation to a young woman of color…that is, until “bid night,” when a girl from my home town, who was pledging another sorority, came up to me in the happy mayhem around “sorority row,” hugged me, and told me just how special I must be to have been offered a bid at my "first choice" house.

In that instant, I knew. And the value in my eyes of my new sisters, who were welcoming me, a Jewish woman and a woman of Chinese descent into their house, went up exponentially.

Today, my heart is breaking over allegations that beautiful, talented, young African American women were turned away from sororities at University of Alabama,  told that they were unwanted, told that they were less than desirable.  It isn't true.

I’d like to be able to hug all of the young women who have experienced this disappointment and tell them not to allow this one horrible moment to define their lives or make them believe for even one moment that they are second-class citizens.  I’d like to beg them not to let this one rejection to cause them to lose faith in the goodness of God’s people in the world.

For today, I need to believe something more than these allegations.  I really need to believe that, should I visit the University of Alabama campus, I would be welcome in the AOII house.  I really need to believe that, should our daughter decide to attend University of Alabama, she would be welcomed not only into the AOII house, but any other house that she might decide to pledge.

I really need to believe that no more doors will ever be closed to students of color at the University of Alabama, or any other college or university.

Please, O Lord, let it be so.