Another trip to the ER. I am exhausted and worried and afraid. Fighting for doctor’s appointments, transportation, medications. No one listens or cares how hard it is.
“How does anyone do this?” I cry frantically into the nurse’s shoulder. She’s understanding and very nice, but she can’t make it all go away. She does what she can, knowing there’s nothing she can do once I take my daughter home.
She takes care of my immobile daughter, and in return my daughter takes care of those around her: one frazzled nurse, caring for an irritable patient. My daughter yells out to the nurse, “You can do this, Wendy. You got this, Wendy.” The nurse visits at the end of her shift to thank my daughter. “You got me through this day. I walked by just to hear your encouragement.”
My daughter makes friends with those nearby. They watch movies and visit, telling their life stories. The patient next to her watches over her when I’m gone and tells me what I missed when I return. On other days, she would have written a funny story about her experience.
In those frantic days, I didn’t recognize what got us through. There was so much despair. But looking back, I realize that all of us together—the patients, the nurses, the caregivers—we put one foot forward, then the next, then the next. We were a community of grit.
Cindy Domasky
Sacramento, California