Regrets

 

Regret: a feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over something that has happened or  been done.

I don’t have many regrets, in fact, I try not to regret anything that has happened in my life. The experience cannot be changed, forgotten or undone. So, I take it as a lesson learned and move on….

After my craniotomy, I was taken to the step down unit. My bed was in the far left corner and the only space with a window, no extra charge. Our beds were separated by curtains which didn’t lend much privacy.

It was late in the afternoon when I heard the nurses from the ICU bring in another patient. My curtain was closed but my ears were open. Call it curiosity, eavesdropping or nosiness but it was hard not to listen. The ICU nurse was filling in the nurses from my room about the new patient. She said, “Male patient, 19 years old, his name is Corey. He’s been in the ICU for several weeks and he can be aggressive, spits, bites and tries to get out of his bed.”

Corey was hit in the back of his neck with a baseball bat when he was entering his grandparents house. Someone found him laying on the ground a while later. He had major neurological damage and was on a ventilator and had a feeding tube, which he had pulled out on more than one occasion. This meant that Corey could not walk or speak but was fully conscious.

When I heard the things they were saying about Corey, I was afraid. The words that stuck out to me were 19 year old, aggressive male. I looked at Marcus with wide open eyes and he knew I was nervous. I was so grateful he was with me.

Corey was put directly across from me. Our beds were approximately five strides apart, too close for my comfort. Shortly after Corey was settled in his space, Marcus asked the nurse about getting a pull out chair for him to sleep on. It would fit perfectly between my bed and the wall with the window. The nurse led Marcus out of the room to get the chair and I realized I was alone with a couple other patients, Corey and no nurse.

My curtain was closed and I told myself they’d be right back. Although he couldn’t walk, Corey could move. I overheard the nurses say he had thrown himself out of his bed more than once. As I waited for Marcus to return, I started hearing rustling coming from his bed. I was trying to stay calm but my heart was pounding in my chest and my imagination started to run wild. I was picturing this man dragging himself on the floor and coming under my curtain. The sound of movement continued and I was sure I was going to hear him fall to the floor at any second. I held my breath and tried not to panic.

Marcus and the nurse came back with the sleeper chair. I looked at Marcus and whispered to him how scared I was. He told me he knew I was (because I’m a chicken) and was standing just outside the door, looking in every so often to make sure I was okay.

The nurse immediately went to check on Corey, he had moved. I could hear her adjusting him back in a comfortable position and warned him that if he tried to get out of bed again, she would have to put a restraining belt on him.

We didn’t sleep very well that night. Marcus was too big for the little pull out bed and I was still scared.

The following day I went to the bathroom. It was the first time I would actually get to see Corey as I passed his bed. When I casually glanced over, I was shocked and saddened at what I saw. Corey and I made eye contact. He had blonde hair, was very small and looked so fragile. I forgot how young nineteen years is. He was far from the scary man I made him out to be. He had a look of sadness and frustration in his eyes and my heart broke for him.

During the day, our curtains were open. Corey and I faced each other and made eye contact every once in a while. With my headache and his inability to speak, we just looked at each other now and then, both curious about each other’s situations.

Corey didn’t have the wonderful family support I had. Over the four days we layed across from each other, his mother and father came one time, separately. Our curtains were open when his mom came and I noticed that Corey would not look at her. She kept repeating, “Do you want me to go?” My feeling was that she wanted him to let her off the hook so she could leave. His anger was palpable, I could feel it in the air. It was a very short visit.

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His father came the next evening and brought him a laptop and some movies. Corey looked at his father with desperation. His mouth moved in an attempt to communicate with his father but no words came out. His father said he was leaving but would be back a little later. Corey had tears streaming down his cheeks as his father chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right back!” I didn’t see his father again.

I know I don’t know the history between Corey and his parents and I shouldn’t judge, but he was suffering deeply. As a mother, I just don’t understand the coldness and indifference his mother showed him. On one hand it angered me, but on the other hand, it made me appreciate the love and support I got from Marcus and everyone in my family.

For the most part, we had great nurses. One was a man named Francois, he was my nurse five years earlier when I had my biopsy done. He was so kind, soft spoken and patient. The other nurse was an older lady who spoke very loudly because she was hard of hearing. She was rough around the edges and she made me laugh. Not only did they take great care of me but I also heard the way they spoke to Corey. They carried on conversations with him even though he could not speak.

Francois always explained to Corey everything he was doing, step by step. The older nurse (I forgot her name) spoke to Corey about her grandson who was about the same age as him. I could hear the compassion and a bit of sadness in her voice. She also spoke about a picture Corey had pinned up by his bed. It was a picture of a newborn baby, Corey was a daddy.

It wasn’t so much about what the nurses were saying to Corey, but the way they were speaking to him. They treated him like a human being, they showed him that they truly cared for him and his well being. Nurses like this should be given awards because unfortunately they are not all like this.

On my last day in the hospital, there was a shift change with the nurses. An angry nurse was tending to Corey. I don’t know what she was so mad at, but I was shocked to hear the way she was speaking to him. I heard her say, “You’re not so tough now, are you? Are you going to cry? Only babies cry! Are you a baby?” The verbal abuse continued. I could see Corey’s face through the slightly opened curtain. He was so angry, unshed tears filled his eyes.

So, this is my regret….

I left the hospital that day without speaking up for Corey. I didn’t tell her boss or another nurse about what I heard. I think about all the things I could have or should have said, spoken up for someone with no voice of their own, but they will always remain left unsaid. That is my regret.

On my way out of the room, I waved goodbye to Corey, never to see him again.

“In the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take.”

Regretfully yours,

Linda xoxo