The Harrowed Heart

Tag: writing

  • A good reminder

    I often get people, patients and visitors alike, coming into my lobby and looking for specific services that are not located in my area; usually, I just direct them to the appropriate location and wish them a happy day.

    More often than not, I get those who need to be directed to the emergency room for various reasons: they require emergency services; they’re here to visit an in-patient and need to check-in with the emergency room unit coordinator first (for patient safety), or they’re here to be with someone in the emergency department-usually a relative or friend.

    I typically handle these visitors with care, first finding out what is bringing them in, though they’re usually good about letting me know when I ask, “how can I help you today?” Then I’ll either direct them around the building to access the emergency room department, or personally walk them down, and through the locked access doors. FYI: anyone bleeding and people in obvious discomfort or pain get an immediate escort directly to the emergency room while visitors are given directions on how to get there.

    Last week, however, I had a gentleman come in looking for his son, who had been in an accident. That was all he said. Normally, I would give him directions to the emergency room but something in the tremor of his voice spoke to me. I could hear his fear and his grief; I felt his pain wrapped around the way he said “son” and “accident” in the same breath. And I felt a kinship towards him, knowing that feeling myself.

    So I didn’t hesitate to shut down my computer, lock up my HIPAA protected papers, put the bell out, and walk him to the emergency department. Knowing the strength he would need, I asked if he would like me to grab him a coffee or juice before I led him to the ED. He declined and that was that.

    Quietly, we made the short trek to the ED; we didn’t speak a word between us, other than my light direction to take a right down another hall, but I could feel each shudder in his breathing, not knowing what to expect. As I let him through the final door, I introduced the unit coordinator to him by name, let him know they would help him from here, and to let us know if he needed anything.

    I don’t know the outcome of that encounter or who they were: I don’t need to know. I know what I needed when it was me and I just wanted to pass along any kindness I could to that person. It’s scary, the not knowing. And the fear you feel is so painful, so crushing, it’s a wonder it’s not tangible. It’s something dark that just lives in you until you get the relief you need, if you get it, until you hear the words that can turn it into a bad memory. And when that relief hits, it’s so sweet it’s draining. It takes your strength and the air from your lungs.

    This meeting has been sitting with me the last few days; I find I’ve been dwelling on it more than I should, as well as a few other personal issues… yeah, there have been a few lately. It just really makes me wonder, ya know? Why do some of these things happen? Some people are gone before we’re ready; some are told how much time they have left. And in between…in between I guess we just do the best we can; we just keep showing up and showing the world how resilient we can be, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the time.

    I also got some really wonderful new, coming May 2025; there will be a new baby in our family…not me!! Another family member is expecting and we’re thrilled for them. That news was just what I needed right now… it was a reminder that while shit hits the fan, regularly and with more frequency than I care for, good things are still happening, too.

    I really needed that.

  • Sometimes, it’s just a lot

    So last week, I wrote that I have been struggling to get some solid sleep in… unfortunately, I received some bad news that night, and sleep did not come easily. I’m actually still processing that news, just waiting for it to hit, because I know it will.

    On another note, I’ve been thinking a lot about the peace that I’ve worked hard to find; specifically, about the control I have to keep my peace.

    Small actions, no matter how big or small, have the power to impact someone else’s day. I think I explained this fairly eloquently to a co-worker recently, about another’s behavior. I won’t go into detail here but the co-worker I was talking to… she’s big on putting yourself in someone else’s shoes, to take a look at things from where they’re standing. I have a love/hate relationship with this mentality some days. It’s not a bad mindset to have but it can be exhausting as well. Anywho…

    I let her know my concerns and yes, frustrations with another colleague. I explained that I’ve been struggling recently-she knows my history, been with me through my dark days, and seen me progress through my therapy-so I’m not afraid to share with her but I also felt the need to remind her that while I’m doing well, there’s been a lot going on recently, and that while I’m managing my stressors and triggers, when things begin to pile on, it can be those little things that push me to that breaking point.

    So, I let her know, this one concern, a small action, really and truly usually ignorable, can still be that one thing to set me off. And not me, necessarily, but anyone else who may also be going through it themselves. You never do know what someone else is carrying: they could have lost a friend, have a family member fighting cancer, or be having an “and then” day-a day where nothing seems to go right and it just keeps piling on… you know, “I woke up late, and then my car wouldn’t start, and then I dropped my coffee everywhere, and then…” You get the idea. I think she got the point.

    I said what I needed to say and now I’m done with it. There is someone else who has noticed this other colleague’s behavior and she’s not happy about it, either, but that’s her battle. I also keep telling her to “let it go, if nothing is going to be done, then nothing will be done.” I can only hold onto my peace, even when it feels like I’m having an “and then day,” even when sometimes it’s just a lot.

  • That’s Pretty Good

    I just read something that essentially said, with all the therapy I’ve been getting, I’m not learning how to handle the trauma, pain, anxiety, or depression I’ve been through, rather, I’m healing to enjoy and love all the good things that come my way, to allow happiness to resonate in my soul again. I felt that.

    On the one hand, there is no way the experience of Kevin’s accident is ever going to fully fade into memory; there will always be a trigger I don’t anticipate. Or a memory. A sound. A feeling. Tonight for instance, I watched a movie in which a husband lost his wife: the scene showed the husband crying and trying to curl into the wall of the hospital where he was waiting with family and I was transported to November 19, 2022, when I tried to curl into the hospital walls myself…when I was so scared and so overwhelmed that curling into anything else for comfort was all I could think to do at the time. Just to stop thinking, to stop feeling. I’ll never forget that moment, the one where my comfort was fighting for his life and I had no one else to tell me it was going to be alright, to offer that comfort, and tell me it was going to be ok.

    That comfort did come, eventually, in a coworker I was familiar with but didn’t know well. As soon as she opened her arms to hug me, I fell apart and allowed the grief to take me, knowing someone was there to help piece me back together, to help me navigate this terrifying situation, and to tell me it would be ok, even when we weren’t sure it would be.

    But I digress. The last few years of therapy have been exceptionally helpful in helping me manage those triggers and emotions, so while watching that scene did bring up extreme emotions and memory for me, I was also able to let slip the tears that managed to break through, remind myself that what occurred in the scene was not the outcome we had, and that Kevin was fine. We are fine.

    But then I think about the second part of what I had read…that I’m healing to accept happiness in again and that made so much sense. You see, when Kevin had his accident, and even though he’s fine now and I did not lose the love of my life, there was a period of time that I grieved his absence, and our future, not knowing then what would happen or that he would survive. Honestly, the trauma to his heart…I didn’t know if he’d make it; I’d been told to bring the kids, to prepare for the worst, to call our family. So yeah, I grieved a future we had planned, even if only for a few hours: trips we wanted to take, golf excursions, Florida for a wedding, our children’s graduations-our eldest child graduated from high school 7 months after Kevin’s accident-and so many other plans. I felt like I lost it all, all our future memories, even if they hadn’t happened yet…gone.

    The first year following the accident was exceptionally difficult: the wedding anniversary I thought I’d face alone, Father’s Day, my birthday, graduation, a wedding, a visit to my grandmother. I honestly thought it was all lost to me and so reaching each of those milestones, while amazing in their own rights, were bittersweet to me. They were tinged with memories of what we almost lost and a sense of relief that Kevin and made it this far. The first anniversary of Keivn’s accident brought on its own set of anxiety inducing memories and emotions for me. But we made it.

    And with therapy, I was able to face that I was afraid to fully embrace those times because they were almost stolen from me once. I was afraid of facing that I had almost lost them; afraid to believe that they did happen, that Kevin was here and celebrating with me. It took some time, but I’ve gotten better at being present in those moments now, in letting myself feel the joy and happiness that radiates in them.

    We just dropped our son off at college a few weeks ago and it was bittersweet for all the right reasons. Kevin and I, we only ever wanted to give our kids every opportunity we could, to allow them to be children for as long as they could, knowing what it was like to have to grow up early, and not wanting that for them. We wanted to keep them free from the burden of being an adult before their time.

    So dropping off our son at school, leaving our baby behind, in a place he worked so hard to get to, knowing that we had given him every tool we could to help him be successful; knowing that he had reached the first step of his dream, and knowing that Kevin and I could do that for him, that was pretty amazing. So, while I was crying for a whole different reason, I was also so incredibly happy, and that is pretty good.

  • Still working it out

    Alright…I’m still playing around with the appearance and set up of this blog. I’ve never done anything like this before, so bear with me as I try to figure it all out.

    I’m also trying to work out how often I want to post; I have more good days than bad now but that doesn’t mean I’ll only be writing when I’m struggling. I think it’s important to remember to highlight all the good moments as well.

    When I first started therapy, one of the first things I was told to do when a memory overwhelmed me was to make a list… well, box breathing might have been the first suggestion but making a list was definitely in there somewhere. And as someone who has been writing off and on since her teens as a means to alleviate stress and emotional turmoil, it seemed pretty natural.

    That list, initially, included all of Kevin’s little victories after his accident; they included physical things he was able to accomplish in the early days: walking from the bed to the chair, the chair to the doorway, down the hallway to the nurse’s station, etc. Little victories that would help me remember that he was surviving and progressing.

    I really struggled every time he wasn’t able to act physically the same way as before his accident; the instances are less overt now but I still see the signs: the way he grabs his chest where his ribs were cracked open, how he has less energy for the things he loves doing, how he still sometimes pulls away from my hugs-honestly, that one still hurts the most-because after 3 years, he still has extreme sensitivity to pressure against his sternum.

    But this list, it got longer and longer, and I kept re-reading it over and over again. It helped. Until it didn’t. It helped calming me as it reminded me of how far he had come; but it sucked to remember where he had been, simply because those memories still have the power to break me. I’m still working on it, I mentioned that, right?

    So I changed it. I realized that I needed my own list; something for me to read about myself that helped me to feel good. It was just another way for me to bring myself out of my anxiety, especially as we got closer to the first anniversary of his accident and it kicked into over-drive.

    The list is self serving but not in the way you may think; all the comments are a response to my actions toward those I help to take care of. For me, this list is a reminder that I am capable of making someone else’s day a little bit easier to get through.

    And that brings me the greatest relief; it reminds me of the people that were there to help me through the scary moments. I find peace in knowing that I can be that for someone else.

    I’ve been working towards changing that mindset that leans towards the negative. It’s not always the easiest to do: being angry is easy. Reminding yourself that’s not who you are is difficult.

    And it’s ok to struggle doing either.

  • Rough Morning

    July 24, 2025

    Met someone today who just made my day (insert sarcasm here). Our interaction was brief and the only things I discerned about this particular individual was that they seem to be very angry with an ego and huge sense of entitlement.

    Now, I deal with this kind of thing all the time and while I’m usually good about letting it go, understanding that the reason they’re in my vicinity is not always by choice but necessity, and that it can be scary, and that each person deals with stress and fear differently, the entire experience ruined a solid hour or so of my morning. I’m afraid I was not nice in their description to a friend when I asked for help and vented my frustration at their treatment of me: I believe “d-bag” was used more than once.

    And then a colleague brought me my favorite coffee cake.

    After I was able to sit with it a bit, and devour my coffee cake, I started thinking about how this person got to the point where they are angry and hateful, and not just today, but in almost every interaction they have. I spoke to other colleagues who reported similar experiences. What had they been through? What brought them in today? Are they getting help? Do they need help?

    And then I decided that I didn’t need to let this experience continue to ruin my day or bleed into what I do best.

    But more importantly, I didn’t want to let this turn me into the worse version of myself; she’s not a nice person. I didn’t want to be so consumed in anger that it would be all I would experience. I did that before and it almost ruined me.

    I was completely overwhelmed after Kevin’s accident; I was mad, angry, grieving, scared, scarred, and changed. I wasn’t the same. I was short tempered, quick to cry, and snapping at everyone. I didn’t feel like I was that person at the time, not until someone sat me down and described behavior I have zero recollection of.

    To be honest, many of the days following Keivin’s accident are lost to me; there was too much to feel and too much to do and honestly, I just don’t think I was capable of taking in or processing anything else in those days. I was just surviving going through the motions. Not really interacting but acting. In many ways.

    Acting like I was fine. Acting like I wasn’t angry, or scared, or broken. But I was and I didn’t like it. I never considered myself an overtly happy person, but I was never the angry, bitter person I had turned into.

    That’s when I got help and found a good therapist. But that was still 4 months after the accident. Four months that I can’t account for my behavior.

    I don’t want to be that angry person again, and I started feeling sorry for this person who I only know as this.

    I did change with Kevin’s accident: I’m still changing, to be honest. But this little experience today, it’s only as important as I make it.

    I have this little board for short quotes: it usually changes based on interactions I have or things I want to focus on; so today, it was changed:

    “In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”

    ~Clare Pooley

    And love yourself.