"Torch Of Courage: Life Unbelieved"

     As an author, I see it two ways; an inevitable ending is the same reguardless of weather the truth is believed or not. However, knowledge of this does not make the bitter taste of reality any sweeter.

     This lesson was recently reinforced during my stay at a local hospital after abdominal surgery. With the analytical mind of a writer, I stand in awe at the possibilities that could've befallen me in these circumstances, & bewildered with the way that reality's cards played out.  These kinds of totally unexpected plot twists are just what the doctor ordered for fixing most of today's mediocre story lines. But when these plot twists become part of one's daily life to cope with, it becomes more burdonsome then impressive. 

      Sweating profusely & trying to regulate breathing, I attempted to control the shaking. Any dealings with needles made me start to panic. The flashbacks of childhood forced needle drugs from a non-blood relative & his people were difficult to shield my brain from replaying. Adrenaline shot through my system so profusely that my heart began to feel as though it would explode out of my chest any minute.  Seeing the blood drawing tray in the hands of a kind looking lady did not aid in calming my nerves.  She strolled confidently to my bedside.

     As she prepared my right arm for the simple procedure, I explained that most nurses comment about my vains tending to roll.  She assured me that she's experienced & has taken blood from me before. Considering that she looked familiar, plus the fact that the brain injuries I survived cause short term memory issues, I figured that I should trust her word for it. The deep breathing exercises that my Dad previously taught me helped with bringing down the "fight or flight" chemicals pumping through my system, slowing down my metabolism, resutling in the shakes to cease.

     I decided to take advantage of my disability, for the sake of a more calm blood drawing experience. The organic brain syndrome & MTBI (mild traumatic brain injuries) cause me to have a propensity to be completely distracted quite easily. So, I propped my head on the pillow in such a way as to make my face turned toward the window on my left, away from what the nurse was doing to me. I engaged her in general conversation, resulting in me telling a story, totally making me forget what she was about to do with the needle.

     Succeeding with my ploy to make me forget the unpleasentness of needles & distract me from what was going on, the next sound I heard was a total surprise! Her scream pierced my ears, so I jerked my head back toward her direction. I felt the prick of a needle & saw movement of our arms toward her body, then back down into my arm again, but this time it felt more like a stabbing. I noticed movement but didn't realize what it was, then I saw the syringe before my eyes, but the needle part looked like it must be jammed up inside or something.

     Did it look that way just because of the angle I was viewing it, was the needle inside the syringe vial, or was it sticking inside one of our bodies? I felt a flush of fear run through me. It was much like the terror I felt when I was a child, causing the PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) to flare up again. My mind's eye flashed a multitude of horrific images from the past.

     I was brought out of my stupor by the pain in my chest. Aparently, in the excitement of the events that had transpired, I had quit breathing for too long. My heart hurt & felt swelled, like it needed to beat but for some unfathomable reason, was unable to do so. I noticed that my vision had went black.

     It took all of my "survival mode" concentration to be able to force myself into taking a huge deep breath & pull my body upwards by the railings, then I slammed my body hard back down onto the bed. It somehow shocked my system back into function from it's momentary, yet very painful lapse.

     When my vision returned, I noticed that the nurse was not there anymore. I vaguely recalled seeing the back of her head rushing toward the door at some point after the initial commotion with the needle. I realized that I was alone & my arm really hurt. Abandonment issues crept into my consciousness & I began to cry.

     She appeared for a flash & did something beside me. By the time I looked that way, she was gone again & I heard someone in the bathroom briefly. Remembering flashes of what just had happened, I looked at my arm. It had two needle marks in it, but thankfully, I saw no needle sticking out of it. After a deep breath, I knew I had to stop the bleeding.  Since the surgery, I tended to bleed for longer periods of time until it clotted, so I knew I had to do something very fast!

     Fearing having to pay for a hospital blanket, I figured sheets were probably less expensive. There was nothing else within reach to use. My left arm was hooked up to an IV & was useless for movement, so I pushed the blanket down with my right hand & pulled the sheet up. Placing my right arm over my left breast, I applied pressure toward the sheet to help stop the bleeding. When it subsided, I blotted off the blood & tucked the bloody spot of the sheet under my left armpit, in hopes that I wouldn't have to pay for the blood spot on the sheet. Little did I know at the time but this small detail costed me the ability to be believed about the incident by the nurse.

     She came in again & had a disgruntled look on her usually friendly face. We started talking & she gave me the impression that she thought I had not been poked by the needle at all. She seemed angry that I had somehow caused the needle to poke her! This confused me. I informed her that I had been jabbed. She inspected my arm & said she didn't see any blood. Well, the first prick was indeed tiny, but the second prick, the one that had blead, I couldn't figure out why she denied seeing at least that red mark. The lady seemed as though she really believed what she was saying.

     Dumbfounded only momentarrily, I remembered the spot of blood & pulled the sheet a little outward, to show her the mark. But alas, I had not pulled it far enough from my armpit for her to see the blood. She looked at me suspiciously. I was becoming increasingly frustrated, as was she. Things escalated & finally I realized that if she truely didn't see the blood spot, maybe I needed to pull the sheet out farther. I did so. I still have no idea if she saw it, believing me or not, because she left the room.

     A chain reaction is responsible for the events of that day. The brain injuries I suffered from child abuse ended up causing ataxia of the trunk & limbs. Ataxia affects the muscles & nerves of my whole body. It has consequences beyond an uneaven gait. At times, I am unable to properly register touch & pain to my limbs appropriately in the brain. My arms & legs have been known to start spasming, without my knowledge, until I see it with my eyes & eventually it subsides. 

     The brain injuries are also attributed to the aphasia, which caused me to have a hard time processing & verbalizing what was going on to the nurses.  Oh, how I wish everyone who deals with brain injured patients would be required to read the charts!  That would avoid some misunderstandings, possibly even curbing potential misfortune & pain. 

     I have a theory about what transpired in that hospital room with the needle scare. Since I know that I was sufficiently distracted from what the nurse was doing, I doubt her theory that my anticipation of her poking me had caused me to jump prematurely, therefore bumping the needle into her.

     I had forgotten that there was even a needle in the room! The conversation & head turning had relieved me of the potential to jump in anticipation of the needle. However, again, she really seemed to believe what she was saying, even though I knew better. This brings me to assume that my arm must have moved on it's own volition.

     As odd as it sounds, this situation is entirely plausible, considering the spasms that the brain injuries & ataxia already have a history of causing in my limbs. Also, I had no idea anything was wrong until I heard her scream first. Then I felt the first prick & the second, harder poke. She obviously was stabbed first, then me. Being that she is a professional, plus her claiming that my arm jumping was what made her get stabbed, leads me to believe my ataxia spasm theory.

     A few hours later, a tall gentleman entered my room with another blood drawing tray. My attempt to explain to him what had happened was in vain. The stress of it all had my verbage in a jumbled wreck of a state. He acknoledged that the incident with the earlier needle was why he was sent. They still needed the blood. 

     He didn't seem to trust my word that someone should physically hold my arm down while he drew the blood. I didn't want the spasms to cause another nurse to share a needle with me, but the aphasia from the brain injuries resulted in me being unable to successfully verbally communicate my point once again. To him, I must've seemed like an overtly nervous person who was talking out of her ass!

     Somehow, I found the courage to be insistant. Although the man's facial expression gave away his disbelief in this inconvenience, his kind demeanor won out. He asked a lady to hold my arm down as I'd fervently demanded. As he'd expected, the blood draw went without incident. There had been no need of wasting their time holding my arm down, was the general air about the room. This uneasy silence made me feel ashamed of asking for the extra help.

     But, what if the spasms HAD happened again? Then, we'd have been relieved that the lady was bracing my arm, wouldn't we? Knowing that the unexpected spasms can happen to my limbs at any moment, without my feeling it, is why I was so insistant. However, I was treated as though I might be a paranoid, overly nervous person for requesting that my own arm be restrained.

     Understanding that the unpredictable spasms are good reason to hold the arm down when drawing blood does not make it any easier. The outcome is the same, reguardless of weather or not nurses believe in the need to do so. Either the muscles & nerves jump wildly, or they do not.

     Isn't an ounce of prevention worth the trouble? Should I continue to insist that someone hold down my arm while poking me with a needle, even though others often give me heck over it?  Again, knowledge of the truth does not make a situation any easier, especially when the truth is not believed. 

     This brings me to the hypothesis that living with the challenges & symptoms of multiple disabilities is a daily fight for the truth.  As a human, I am endeared to the notion of happy endings, Karma equalling out situations, miracles/blessings turning bad incidents around somehow into good ones, & the like. 

     But random chaos also abounds.  I liken it unto the symptoms of disabilities.  Chaos can be managed & if lucky, quelled one fine day.  Fate is supposed to be what you MAKE it, not something written ahead of time in stone, unchangable.  People have a plethora of choices concerning their actions, words, & belief systems. 

     As a reader/writer, I have experienced the circle of inevidable endings in manuscripts.  I have always hoped that negative inevitable endings were not a reality in life, but this needle incident has caused me to begin to wonder! 

     Knowing the truth & speaking it, only to be misunderstood or disbelieved, to possible dire consequences, is not a fun trip to say the least!  I wonder if this is how Jesus felt, when talking to the multitudes?  

     Unbelieved truth is a heavy burden to bare.  I carry a torch of courage in my heart, burning a flame of the spirit of truth, weather the people it matters to can be shown it or not.  It lights the paths I take & the choices I make in this life directly.  I wish that others could see the light that I am so often unable to fully materialize in their conscious perception.  At least through trying to do the right thing, I know that I've done all that is humanly possible, even at the expense of others' mislead disapproval, ideas about my motivations, & how I should be treated.

     Besides the rather scary incident its self, there is another related matter that weighs heavily upon me.  How do I know wheather or not the nurse who got poked by the same needle that I did has clean, untransferrable things in her bloodstream?  How does she know that I do or do not?  Do I have the right to ask the hospital or doctor for that nurse's blood test records, so that I'll know I have nothing to be concerned about or might need further testing for? 

     Isn't sharring a needle one of the big bad things to be doing now-a-days, considering Hepatitis B, AIDS, & the like?  I understand that the needle going back & forth between our skin was an accident, but the possible risks are still the same.  Hopefully, nurses aren't allowed to do their job once they are positive for communicable diseases, but these days, who knows, with all of these privacy laws, perhaps some things can slip by? 

     Both as a writer & a human being, I've learned that no matter if good or bad occasions occurr, one must prepare for the point.  For, isn't it the point of truth what really matters in the end, anyway?

     Are you carrying a burden of unbelieved truth?  Share it, if you feel comfortable, using the "Comments" hyperlink at the bottom of this blog page.  I especially welcome others who are disabled to respond to the text.  What points of truth have been brought to light from your darkness?  What wisdom have you gleaned from the nuggets life has handed you? 

     Even if you are not a person with a disability, please share your stories of striding forth with the torch of courage?  Let me know that I am not the only one who can see the flame of truth's blessed light?  How do you deal with situations where the truth you know & understand is important for others to comply with for safety's sake, but alas, nobody listens?  How is a person in that situation supposed to take it when treated as if their rational requests were stupid, time consuming, or irritating to the listener(s)?

     Thanks for taking the time to visit this blog page.  I appreciate any input you decide to leave in the "Comments" section.  All are answered, in due time.  Keep finding & making reasons to smile.