The Brown-Eyed Girl

Mama, "Why is she BROKEN?", the girl asked, tugging on her mama's sleeve. Both of her georgous big brown eyes were intently staring at me, one arm firmly attached to mom, and the other elbow deep down the back of her pants as she scratched at some hidden irritant.

Mama was busy - too busy to answer her, too busy to even slow the frantic pace at which she pressed the clerk to continue calling all the stores for a specific garment in a specific size, just right for her. The Brown Eyed Girl scratched and stared, repeating her query to Mama at ever smaller intervals, in an ever louder voice. Mama, in her stylish clothes, fit body, and what could only be described as "shopping ferver", never missed a beat. Her efforts to find her "Perfect Blouse" were equal in intensity to her daughter's efforts to find out why the strange looking lady was "broken".

Could I feel the heat from his embarrased, red face from behind me, or was that just my imagination? I sat there in the borrowed mall wheelchair, breathing through an oxygen canula, my lap piled high with new clothes for Will, pretending not to notice that I was being stared at like some freak at a side show.

Will, who had waited patiently for weeks for me to have a "good day" so we could go to the mall. Will, who at the age of 12 has to push his mom around in a wheelchair if he wants to go to the mall. He had been so tireless, so respectful and kind during the whole shopping trip. Maybe his embarrasement was just my imagination, maybe he wasn't even paying any attention to the Brown Eyed Girl. But on the other hand, maybe he was.

After what seemed like forever, I leaned around and suggested to Will that we go to a different checkout counter. He didn't say a word, just started pushing me and we went on our way. His silence confirmed my fear, for you see, Will is never "silent". We escaped the gawking stare of the scratching, tugging, questioning Brown Eyed Girl.

But the words echo still, "Mama why is she BROKEN?"

Mama
Why
Is
She
BROKEN?

*B*R*O*K*E*N*

*B*R*O*K*E*N*

Mama

Why

Am

I

Broken?

GOD WHY AM I BROKEN?

WHY CAN'T I GET WELL OR DIE AND END THE PAIN? WHY THE BROKENESS? WHY THE MIDDLE GROUND? THE SUB-EXISTENCE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH IS NO EXISTANCE AT ALL; DYING MORE EVERY DAY, BIT BY BIT, ONE NEW DIAGNOSIS AFTER ANOTHER IN A CASCADE OF PROCEDURES, CODES, DRUGS, DOCTORS, AND HOSPITALS. TRYING TO MAINTAIN SOME TYPE OF DIGNITY AND POSITIVE OUTLOOK THROUGH IT ALL - FOR THE SAKE OF MY CHILDREN. I ADMIT THAT SOMEHOW, IN THE BACK OF MY MIND, I ALWAYS THOUGHT SLOW WASTING AWAY WAS A TORTURE UNIQUELY RESERVED FOR THE "WICKED". THAT MY LOVING GOD WOULD BLESS HIS BELIVERS WITH QUICK AND PAINLESS TRANSITIONS OUT OF THIS WORLD. I KNOW THAT WAS JUST A FANTASY, A WISH THAT I THOUGHT WOULD COME TRUE IF I HELD ONTO IT LONG ENOUGH. NOW IT HAS COME TO THIS. A WRETCHED, CRUEL EXISTANCE THAT REVOLVES AROUND PILL SCHEDULES, INJECTION SCHEDULES, TOO MUCH SLEEPING, AND A CONSTANT TETHER TO AN OXYGEN MACHINE. IS THIS MY REWARD FOR LOVING YOU? FOR WORSHIPING YOU? FOR TEACHING MY CHILDREN TO LOVE YOU? FOR BEING FAITHFUL? MAYBE IT'S TRUE THAT YOU AREN'T EVEN AWARE OF ME - ME PERSONALLY. IT'S EASIER TO BELIEVE THAT THAN TO BELIEVE YOU ARE ALLOWING THIS TO HAPPEN. I DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE THAT YOU KNOW ME PERSONALLY, THAT YOU KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON, THAT YOU SEE MY BODY WASTING AWAY AND THE PAIN IT IS CAUSING EVERYONE. I DON'T WANT TO BELIEVE THAT YOU WOULD LET THAT HAPPEN. NOT TO ME, AND NOT TO AUNT MARY, AND NOT TO OLAN, NOT TO DICK. I HAVE TRIED FOR SO LONG TO HOLD ON, TO BELIEVE, TO FIND SOMETHING GOOD IN EVERY SITUATION, BUT I AM SO TIRED, SO VERY TIRED.

WHY AM I BROKEN?
WHY IS SHE BROKEN?
WHY WERE THEY BROKEN?
WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY?

Yes, it's true I am broken. Broken from the inside out, thoroughly broken in spirit and flesh. But my broken heart aches the most of all.

Tapestry

A slight flaw, perhaps a tiny frayed thread, hardly noticeable.
It appears then disappears unobserved
- the tapestry is strong enough to heal itself.
It overcomes without so much as a whimper or sigh.
Life goes on, not a beat missed, the infirmity instantly forgotten
- erased as quickly as it came from the collective memory.

More and more come and go just as quietly, just as quickly, yet over time, inch by inch, thread by thread, the fabric is weakened.
Still subtle, only noticeable by the fibers themselves, scurrying to heal and keep up "the pace" of life, hoping to keep their weakness concealed.
After all, weakness is 'bad', and slowing down is for 'losers'.
Above all, they must band together to protect the image - keeping up appearances is so important.

From a distance, the tapestry looks new, flawless.
Shimmery in all the right spots, boasting dramatic scenes and intense colors.
"Most people" don't look any closer.
They don't notice the secret scars lurking here or there, next to the print of a gilded leaf or a lofty branch
- the surrepticiously mended spots, tended in secret by the fibers themselves, always scurrying about to hold it all together, lest anyone notice, lest they fall behind in the race, lest they show signs of weakness.


"Most People" are just too busy to notice.
And that suits "everyone" just fine.


After years or decades of hiding, the strain becomes to great, the burden of disguise to heavy, and a threadbare section is revealed.
Aghast, "everyone" takes in a shocked breath and stares at the gaping hole, knowing the truth deep inside, but never daring to speak it
- the truth that with no threads left, there is no way to heal.
No way out, no inner strength, no way to mend.

Having witnessed the pattern before, "they" all induldge their own favorite flavor of denial.
For the truth is that the future holds only more bare spots, threadless, gaping, ghastly holes where there was once a lovely tapestry.
They will keep coming, one upon the other, ever more quickly as time goes on.
The fissures will grow, new ones will appear.
Desperate attempts to patch things up with all manner of devices - needles, looms, and exotic skeins give glimmers of hope, but never the permanency of healing.

Because the secret lies within.
The tapestry must have enough strength within itself to heal.

Would things have been different if better care had been taken in earlier days?
If those subtle tears and signals had been listened too more carefully?
If the tapestry had been cared for with more tenderness, more love even?
Or perhaps, was there a fatal, insidious, invisible flaw right from the beginning that would inevitably reveal itself and its' ruinious intent?

Is there enough strength within for healing, or has it been squandered away in the great competition?

Look inside, then.
See what's left.

Procedures

They call them 'procedures' or 'outpatient surgery'. They talk in silky, smooth words that slip off their tongues like butter and drip with confidence. 'I've done this 300 times and never had a problem', 'My patients all say it was so easy and painless'. There must be a class in medical school where they learn how to do this. How to talk patients into signing up for procedures that they would never subject themselves to if they knew the TRUTH.

I don't do well with 'procedures', or the 'Versed thing'. I am wide awake and alert and concious and REMEMBER everything. A very good doctor at Piedmont Hospital discovered this in 1994. She immediately stopped the 'procedure', and called in Anesthesia to sedate me. Now, in 2007 I've had numerous other 'procedures' at Piedmont. Before each one, I tell the doc. that the 'Versed thing' doesn't work for me. They pull my chart and see what has worked before, and they call in the Anesthesiologist. It works great that way.

Crawford Long is different. One year ago, while hospitalized, I required a 'procedure'. It was one that I was very familiar with - I'd had it at Piedmont many times. When I asked about sedation, they said they would be using Versed. I explained that Versed does not work for me and refused the procedure. Then they kept sending in nurses, assistants, and finally the doctor (Dr. Fox - that should have tipped me off), all trying to convince me that Versed would work this time. We even agreed on a hand signal I could use in case I was awake when I was not supposed to be - a signal the doctor promised he would watch for and STOP the procedure if he saw it. I was hoodwinked.

In the procedure room, I was wide awake. The doctor started shoving the apparatus down my throat. I started gagging and gave the hand signal. He ignored me and kept pushing the thing down my throat. Then I started clawing and grabbing at him and the machinery. He just pushed harder. I was gagging and crying and clawing and fighting him the whole time. HE LIED TO ME. He ignored me and just crammed the equipment down and some one (I couldn't see) kept grabbing my arms to restrain me. I felt like a rape victim.

Soon I was left alone in the room sobbing. I never saw the doctor again. He didn't check on me, tell me the results, or (God forbid) apologize for ASSAULTING me. I took pictures of the bruises they made on my arms from the struggle, and have thought from time to time about legal action. The simple truth is I don't have the strength or energy for legal action. But, if there was anything I could do to prevent others from this experience, I would do it.

Now it's time for another procedure. They want to poke around in my heart and lungs and measure the pressures in there. A Cardiologist from Crawford Long called me to explain the procedure. When I asked about sedation, he said 'THERE WILL BE NO SEDATION'. So I refused the procedure. I think he was so arrogant that he couldn't believe I would do that. But I did. I've had it with arrogant doctors who just want to meet their numbers, make their money, and refuse to treat each patient as a real PERSON, who just might know more about their body and their reaction to 'procedures' and drugs than the pompus doctors do. I find it absolutely appalling that a doctor would allow a patient to delay a needed procedure, just because they won't do it THE DOCTOR'S WAY. So basically this doctor is saying his ego is more important than my health. I think I'm the lucky one because that's not the kind of doctor I need.

Meanwhile, my PCP is getting me scheduled to see a Cardiologist at Piedmont. Maybe I'll just go back to Piedmont for all of my care, since they have a good track record for treating me in a HUMANE manner and modifying the 'standard procedure' as necessary for me, a very NON-STANDARD patient.