The Woman Across the Hall

Between my last post here and this one, I had a total knee replacement. So given my previous two hip replacements, I’ve become even more of a bionic woman.

I LOVED my surgeon, the Phoenix specialty hospital staff was phenomenal, and I had the support of an amazing personal team—my sisters from Philly, friends, and medical professionals (including nurse advocates and case managers), plus I lined-up Medicare-paid home health personnel, and out-of-pocket paid caregivers. They have all been AMAZING—I could not be doing this without them.

But we had a challenge: since Steve died, I have no one to help me at home upon discharge from the hospital, indicating the need for a stay at a rehab facility. The tricky thing is Medicare requires a “medically necessary” three-night, post-op hospital stay in order for them to pay for rehab. I considered paying for rehab by myself if it’s not covered. But apparently if you’re in hospital under Medicare, that’s the only way you can go into rehab—under Medicare. (Not sure this is really true.)

After visiting a couple 5 star Phoenix rehabs pre-op, my sisters and I were struck by one that was more like a resort rather than an institution-like facility. But I still needed to qualify for Medicare coverage. It was a little tricky but all of a sudden, wonder of wonders, all the ducks fell into a row, and I was in a stretcher transport to my rehab of choice.

My single room is beautifully decorated and includes a window looking out on greenery. After I got settled in, I could see across the wide hall into another single room with its occupant’s bed on the opposite wall from mine so I had a clear view.

The occupant was an older woman. At one point that first day, she was assisted by aides into a standing position leaning on her walker. I saw that she was tall and willowy, with sparse grey hair, and probably in her 80s. With her elegant demeanor, I wondered: had she been a statuesque runway model? A graceful ballerina? The popular star of her high school or college basketball team? I became intrigued by her.

Obviously I didn’t know her medical issues or condition. But I wondered: was she here to merely recuperate from surgery like me? Or had she been “warehoused” here by her family, simply waiting to die? I wanted to call out to her, introduce myself, and gently begin to trade stories so I could find out more about her. But the physical distance between us was too great.

Then, later that first night, I heard her moaning loudly in pain, calling out for someone to “Please help me!” Staff came to her aid but I so wanted to offer a non-clinical touch of my hand to her forearm to assure her she wasn’t alone. But most of all, I wanted to somehow relieve her pain and suffering. To somehow use my reserves to help her if she had none to spare.

And I had the thought: what if I had exactly the reserves—un-needed by me—to counteract her pain? And vice versa? I pondered: is that something we already do, without thinking, when we reach out to physically or emotionally help someone? Do we somehow give them strength by sharing our un-needed reserves in order to bolster their lagging reserves? And instead of doing it unthinkingly out of Kindness and Compassion, is it something we can do purposefully? Intentionally? And thus maybe more powerfully?

What if a benefit of Oneness is that we can, indeed, reach out, Connect, and share reserves? What if it’s not just a benefit but rather part of our “work,” our “mission”—even our responsibility—as human beings. Or what if maybe it simply comes out of who we are: a spark of the Divine. Of Light. Of pure Love.

So rather than unthinkingly doing an act of Kindness—still a gift in itself—even as I maybe think things like “There but for the Grace of God,” or about how much they look like a friend, etc. instead I consciously, purposefully, intentionally Connect with them energetically, and send them solid healing vibes from my reserves.

I don’t know. I don’t even know if any of this makes any sense—sometimes I just write as guided by my Muse, hoping it makes sense to your inner-knowing at some level. But connecting with a fellow Human Being and more purposefully sharing reserves is an interesting concept to me. Maybe we can all think about it and observe it in our interactions with others.

At the risk of being a Peeping Tom, I still peek at the woman across the hall. I’ve seen an older gentleman visit and sit with her. I’ve observed her wearing sunglasses sometimes—which gives her an elegant Grace Kelly look. I’ve heard her cries of pain as, for example, aides try to transition her in or out of bed. I still wonder about her story. But I also wonder if even from across the hallway I can energetically Connect with her on some higher level. And maybe bring her some ease or solace at that higher level.

I guess it’s worth a try.

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P.S. At the beginning of my surgical path, facing the daunting prospect of dealing with our healthcare system by myself, I felt so alone, so lost. Then Nancy H in Florida—a lifelong childhood friend of my sisters and now a professional nurse advocate—made some suggestions and started a cascade of help:

• Nancy H put me in touch with a nurse advocate—Kathy S—in Phoenix who had more local knowledge.
• As professionals, they were able to connect with one of my surgical hospital’s Case Managers—Mimi—who spoke with me (unheard of until you’re actually admitted) and who then had me on her radar.
• Kathy S also reached out to my surgeon and arranged a referral to a Medicare-covered home health agency in my town of Cottonwood.
• I connected with the agency’s rep—Blake—by phone and found out they could provide, for example, in-home PT—a huge help because I have no one to drive me to on-site PT.
• I developed a contact in the rehab’s Admissions department—Kelly—who worked with the hospital’s Case Manager Mimi and ensured a smooth transition.
• My sister then connected with the rehab’s discharge coordinator to start greasing those wheels for that eventuality.
• In order to make it clear that I viewed each staff member as a human being vs. for example, “the aid on the night shift,” I also purposefully got the names of (and chatted with) hospital and rehab staff who helped me with everything from getting to the bathroom to having water to take meds.

All of this is to say we don’t have to go it alone. In fact, “It takes a village.” And it helps to be proactive and make contacts all over the place. Get your name and situation out there and known. (For example, my situation includes that in the middle of all of this, I’m still grieving the loss of Steve.) 

A LOT of people have connected with me and provided their particular help (and reserves!). My gratitude to all of my “team” members is profound and boundless. 

And I’m left with this: In the end, it all comes down to Connection between and among human beings.

P.P.S. I’ve been in rehab for several days now. I’ve observed that my mystery woman is actually a bit of a curmudgeon. Her shouted plaintive pleas are because she forgets (or refuses) to use the call button. And at times, she’s really not very nice to staff. There’s a part of me that said to myself, “Stop sending her my good ju-ju. She doesn’t deserve it.”

“She doesn’t ‘deserve’ it”??? And thus another realization: She’s a fellow human being. Period. Whether or not she’s “deserving” of my ju-ju is irrelevant. In fact, people like my curmudgeon mystery woman may need it even more. Clearly she’s in a lot of pain. And while I’ve seen her occasionally move around her room, I’ve never seen her wandering the hallway on her walker like the rest of of us “inmates.” So she’s in pain AND stuck within the same four walls. She needs A LOT of good ju-ju. Maybe you could join me in sending some to her.