Reflections from the Emergency Room

"I know so many patients are here because of the lack of help this country has provided for undocumented people."

As I sit in this emergency room suffering and fearful, I feel a sadness deeper than any of the ongoing pain I have experienced over the last 10 months of my life. A weird noise gurgles from the IV attached to my body, and a lady nearby yells at the nurse for not being gentle enough with her. Hey, me too! I understand her complaint: it felt like the nurse inserted the IV like it was an old USB cable and I was a laptop. But, despite the pain, I’m too drowsy from my IV’s concoction to raise my voice.

Drifting in and out of sleep, I see children and elderly patients come and go. We all have something in common—illness. I am filled with worry for all of my neighbors in this hospital, even as I ask God why I have ended up here. Of course, I know the basics. People suffer everyday. People hurt everyday. Nothing makes me an exception.

There is one cruel fact that I do know, however. If I had “good” insurance or reliable access to basic medical care in this country, I wouldn’t be sitting here, dizzy with pain. My health wouldn’t have gotten this bad. It is the label this country has placed on me that has led to the ongoing agony I feel in my body. When I tried to see doctors and clinicians for the pains afflicting me, they didn’t help me. I’ve seen (and paid) eight different doctors over 10 months, with no answers to show for it.

I have visited the ER more times than I have gone to the mall in the last year. My bank account is empty. My debt is larger than the rash that has spread all over my body as a reaction to the medication I was prescribed. Two days ago I was rushed to the hospital, my pulse spiking and my heart palpitating. When I got here they told me I almost had a seizure. And somehow, I am back here again.

I can accept that sickness is part of life but I also know I so many patients are here because of the lack of help this country has provided for undocumented people.

A few hours ago I became infuriated with my own body. How can you give up on me like this? I am still relatively young. But then it hit me. My body is tired of this battle. I’ve spent the past decade trying to survive and it is exhausting. My body’s biggest urge is to find peace and rest. But the only way I can pause my arduous work schedule is by being too sick to clock in. My body forced me to rest. Sure, screw paying bills! Rest is the air my lungs need.

Maybe my body is screaming for the break it deserves and that I cannot afford to provide. Tears are falling from my face as I write this. I am so worn out.

I choose to believe this won’t last forever. I choose to believe that sharing these experiences will help others find courage to fight: fight for their lives, fight for a way out, fight for a world where we get the care and rest that all humans deserve. Even as pain, fear, and a fatigue flood this tearful body, I continue to hold fast to the unrealistic belief that this moment shall pass.

Propina

This is a song from my best friend, Debbii. Her music—especially this song—have been bringing me joy and healing during this season.

We’ll see you next week.