The ICU, the church, the Baby

....and the restless sea

Photo by Despo Potamou on Unsplash

For ten years, I worked as a registered nurse. Part of that time was spent working in the ICU. It was nearly always busy, working there, but on days when we were short of staff, it was dangerous. I remember one day when I had three patients, all of whom were acutely ill. I was doing all I could to keep up, but it felt as though disaster could occur at any second. All day long there were at least three things I had to do RIGHT NOW. At one point, I was in the med room, drawing something up in a syringe, when I began to cry. It was a strange mix of emotion—I felt somehow disconnected from it at the same time that I was feeling it. But I kept quietly weeping and finishing up with what I had to do. My head nurse came into the med room and I was so embarrassed for her to find me in that state—I hadn’t yet had time to wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry,” I said. And she said—and I’ll never forget this—”Don’t be. You’re the only one who’s having an appropriate reaction to all this.”

I think about that now, at a time when I often feel on the brink of tears because of all that’s going on in the world. Some of us have become inured to the wars, the environmental concerns, the incivility that seems to just keep getting worse. But I think most of us at least occasionally —or often—feel the despair, and we make do in the best ways that we can.

One of the things I do to help myself is to briefly meditate every morning. When I sit in the yellow velvet club chair where I do that (after reading a poem), I am immediately comforted. It’s as though the chair has its arms around me. The ritual offers a there, there, moment that I really need and can count on. Same thing for my evening ritual of trying not to allow any talk of news in my bedroom; it’s the one place in my house free of that.

Another thing that helps me is to attend a Unitarian Church. My religious beliefs are ill-formed and ever-changing, and Unitarianism seems the best choice for a theological kid-in-a candy-store like me. For me, church is a group of people gathering and sharing wonder and wondering. It is a place for me to double down on my goal to find and exercise kindness in the world. Also, I am working on being able to sing and say words along with others. Since I was in kindergarten and was handed a triangle to play (which I deigned not to do), I have had difficulty being a joiner. I can sing alone—and have. I can speak to an audience alone—and have. But to join with others in doing something is hard for me. You can imagine how team sports worked for me. (“No, no, I’m fine here in my little corner on the basketball court; you all just proceed as usual.) ((Please contact my therapist for more detailed information. ))

But. Last Sunday, I experience a kind of joiner miracle.