Insulation
Yesterday we visited a friend who had checked himself into a drug and alcohol treatment center. Fortunately, this treatment center happens to be in the mountains – ideally located for a day trip of hiking and sightseeing – and so we made a day of it.
When we arrived at the center after our hike, I stayed in the car to feed Oliver and told Kyle I would call him when we were finished so that he could tell me where to meet him and the girls.
As I sat with Oliver, I found myself hoping that he wouldn’t finish nursing until after visiting hours had ended. I didn’t want to go into the center. I didn’t want to see any of the people there, or the people who were visiting them. Even sitting in our car in the parking lot made me uneasy.
It reminded me of accompanying my aunt to a nursing home once when I was about six. She was an RN, and we were visiting one of her former patients – a woman named Katie who wasn’t going to get any better.
Katie was the oldest and sickest person I’d ever seen, and her room was dark and smelled of urine. Being there made me terribly sad, even though I didn’t understand exactly why.
Today, while I held my son and gazed at the cloudless sky and listened the wind blow through the pine trees, I felt terribly sad again. This time, I understood why.
When we go to school or to work, or even just when we’re chatting with our neighbors, we’re insulated from other people’s problems, and they’re insulated from ours. We’ve all got our personal struggles – some people are more upfront about them than others – but for the most part, they remain hidden unless we choose to divulge them.
At a treatment center or a nursing home or a prison, those problems – whatever the specifics may be – are no longer hidden. Simply being there indicates that those problems have reached a level where they couldn’t handle them alone, where outside intervention was necessary.
These people have hurt other people, or they’re hurt and sick themselves, and they might not get any better. Not even with help.
And they haven’t chosen to divulge these problems to me or to any other visitors, or even to any of the other patients. They’re no longer insulated; now they’re laid bare, whether they want to see and be seen or not.
I was still feeding Oliver when I heard Tacy, CJ and Kyle approaching the car. I looked at the clock and realized that visiting hours were over.
And I was relieved.
April 21st, 2008 at 6:47 am
This whole train of thought seems so foreign to me. I’m a “spill your guts” sort of person, and I’m not used to the idea of keeping your problems hidden.
It would never occur to me that someone would be unbearably uncomfortable with that honest as you clearly were.
April 21st, 2008 at 7:31 am
It’s hard being exposed to that kind of vulnerability. I hope your friend gets the help he needs at the center.
April 21st, 2008 at 7:38 am
I totally understand your feelings. I get the nervous feeling in my tummy when I visit people in the hospital or in nursing homes too.
April 21st, 2008 at 8:28 am
this is how i feel when i go to visit my 6 year old at the pediatric psych ward. only he’s not a friend, he’s my child. “guilt” doesn’t do the feeling justice.
April 21st, 2008 at 12:21 pm
I really appreciate the honesty of this post. There is something about the internet which makes it easier to bare ourselves, isn’t there? It’s hard to look someone in the eyes when you know that they are not alright, and they know you know. I totally understand.
I also hope your friend gets the help he needs.
April 21st, 2008 at 12:53 pm
I’ve been in those types of places (to visit, not for myself) more times than I can count and it never gets easier. To be faced with someone else’s weakness head on like that is difficult for anyone to take. If it wasn’t, we wouldn’t be human.
April 21st, 2008 at 12:54 pm
Oops, almost forgot. Best to your friend and hoping for progress for him.
April 21st, 2008 at 2:55 pm
Like Chicky, I’ve been to those places to visit loved ones who were infirm, old, sick or struggling with an addiction.
I find the air heavy at those places.
Not my favorite places to be.
I hope your friend finds what he needs to be healthy and happy.
April 21st, 2008 at 7:39 pm
I hear you. Really I do. it’s great that you all could put that stuff aside to see a friend though. Even if you were just the friend who waited in the car so that everyone else could go in.
April 22nd, 2008 at 11:10 am
I can say that I really don’t like nursing homes – they are usually the worst. I hope I’m never a resident of one. Being that vulnerable and needing help 24-7 would be very hard for me.
April 22nd, 2008 at 11:24 am
As a school administrator, I have to always try to understand the parents and students’ points of view. This helps me deal with the issues the are having with school and at home. Often times, their problems are not revealed to us thus making more difficult to deal with their problems.
It’s actuall ironic because I try to get people to divulge their problems to me but I myself cannot do the same thing when I need the help.
April 22nd, 2008 at 12:49 pm
This post really struck a nerve with me. I know exactly the feelings you described. I’ve had many experiences with nursing homes and I never felt comfortable visiting people there. Always wanting to escape the uncomfortable feelings.
April 22nd, 2008 at 2:04 pm
Those situations are hard for everyone. In all honesty, if you were having that difficult a time with the environment, it was probably better for your friend that you didn’t go in.
I really hope that they get help and can beat their addiction.