Hair disheveled, skin pale, but I mostly noticed the vacant eyes. They looked at me, but they didn’t, you know? They shifted away from my face, instead choosing to focus on the speckled tile floor under me. Some would say “shifty” or perhaps even “shady.”
I don’t always get a stretcher rushed into my room with a patient actively coding. What I mean is sometimes my patients aren’t just physically broken. Sometimes their souls are broken instead. A mind twisted, thoughts warped, with the cruise control set on self-destruction. Overindulgence of vices, whether purposeful harm is intended or not, will often land you in my charge. For a little while anyway.
And here it was again! Another woman who miraculously escaped death’s cold fingers by her own stupid mistake. When you see it so often your heart wants to become cold, numb, unfeeling for those who are determined to end their existence. Over and over and over they fall like a never ending game of dominoes. But it will end one day if they don’t change. And I suppose that’s where the frustration comes as far as I’m concerned.
Moms losing their children, or worse, setting a poor standard and cycle of dysfunctional behavior for their future generations, addiction begetting addiction. So depressing.
She wasn’t much different really. The presentation was familiar. Slurred speech, followed by shaking, sweating, and then the agitation. Eyes pinging back and forth in her sockets like an Atari game gone bad. Restless. A soul that couldn’t be still, as if a hundred unseen visitors jumped up and down on her back. I watched as she raked her hand through her hair a thousandth time, raking, pulling. I wondered if she might not pull herself bald.
I offered her the small, plastic medicine cup filled with serenity in a pill form, a temporary fix for what really ailed her.
As I stood by her side she began to cry, frantic tears that shook her whole body.
“I’m trailer trash” she cried!
Despite any prior frustration or preconceived notions, for some reason my own heart broke for her. Despite my potential desire to give tough love, I could not. I softened and just felt love, without the tough part at all.
I raised my voice and stated sternly, “look at me!”
She obliged easily settling her gaze on me, but I could read the lack of interest on her face, as if she was simply humoring me. But that changed quickly.
“You are not trailer trash! You hear me? You are a princess!”
Her previously droopy eyelids popped open in surprise. I had obtained her rapt attention as I continued to explain her character in a way I think she had never heard before.
Because that’s what we all want, right? That’s what we all need, deep down. We have the yearning to be special, to be something more than nothing, to be a princess.
I remember as a young girl I adored being spoiled by my aunt. We lived far from her, but when we were able to visit she showered me with the royal treatment. My biological father was absent and my mom worked a lot, to no avail financially.
My aunt would spoil me. A new dress, shoes, and even panty hose with frills on the back end. She made me feel special. Something I really needed at the time. I felt like a princess then, but even that feeling wouldn’t sustain me through my adulthood, my struggles with myself, my struggles with rejection, or my struggles with addiction. My own acknowledgement of my royal destiny would only be fully realized when I began to learn to see myself as Christ saw me. A true princess.
The broken, fatherless, and weak shell of a woman in the hospital bed before me needed to hear she was more than nothing. She wasn’t trailer trash, but because she believed she was, well, she was. She needed to stop being trailer trash and start being a princess. If you label yourself as worthless then that’s all you’ll ever be. You won’t strive for a different name. You won’t accept the heritage that is there all along. A royal priesthood. An inherited crown from your Father the King of Kings.
If you choose the life of a pauper you’ll never be a prince. If you remain a slave to self-hate you’ll never be a passioned prisoner of hope. If you walk blind in a lie of worthlessness you’ll never experience the fullness of what your life can be.
After we spoke she drifted easily to sleep, no doubt ushered there on a veil of anti-anxiety medication, but a part of me hoped she was accompanied to dreamland by a feeling of peace in her destiny at hand, fully within grasp if she simply allowed it.
I knew too well the firm grasp she was under, and call me overly optimistic, but I was hopeful for her future as I cared for her. People will disappoint and fall short their potential numerous times, but eventually they could step up to the challenge well-equipped. I prayed this was that time for her. Maybe not. But I still held hope.
A simple glance at the mirror in her room, confronted by the image I saw in my reflection spoke volumes of how God can change a life and turn trash to treasure.
Ruthie Young says
Another winner. thanks, really spoke to my heart! love you dear Princess!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much! Glad you enjoyed. Love you too!