I’m in the lobby of my doctor’s office to get results and see an older lady in the middle of the room, sitting in a wheelchair with her eyes closed. She seemed so serene and peaceful. Suddenly, she acted up from what appeared to be an uncontrollable nerve spasm.
As I sit in the lobby, I notice the old lady in the wheelchair. She’s alone, and it seems like everyone in the room is aware of her solitude. I can’t help but wonder about the lives of the other people in the room. We’re all here, sharing this exact moment, waiting to be called and venting to the doctor about our health issues, only to be offered another prescription.
The woman in front of me was desperately looking inside her transparent lavender plastic purse, which was filled with medicine bottles. She must have had at least ten bottles in the bag.
Next to her, a woman is talking on her cell phone. She’s upset about a family situation and her many difficulties. She was loud, and everyone noticed. I looked away, not wanting to be intrusive. I turned my eye back to the woman with the purse. “Oh look…she found the bottle she was looking for.” With a relieved sigh, she opened it and took a pill, and then I thought, “How sad to have to take so much medication.”
The woman in the wheelchair sits there in the middle of the room. “I wonder if she is alone? I wonder what kind of life she’s had.” I look at her frail body, wrinkles, and sagging skin. I wonder who she was. Did she ever love anyone? Did anyone love her? Suddenly, the door opens, and a man asks her if she’s ready to go. He’s the man sent by the transportation company to pick up patients from doctor’s offices. He pushes her chair as she says goodbye to everyone. Then I wonder, She’s going home, but home to what? Home to whom?
As I looked around, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of empathy for these people, each with their own struggles and stories. I felt uncomfortable looking at so many sick and lonely people. I waited for my turn, knowing it would be quick. Get some antibiotics and move on. I was sure all the pain in my body was due to a cold or something trivial.
I was about 32 years old.
Today at 63, I look back on that day for some reason. I was reminded of it because I counted the medication bottles on my nightstand. Now that person is me. I sit here alone in my bed. I am tired, have no energy, and cry from pain. But this experience has also taught me resilience and the importance of self-care. It’s a journey I’m still on, but I’ve come a long way from that day in the doctor’s office.
As I sat there, my feet swollen, head pounding, I couldn’t shake off the fear. I was scared that my health would worsen, that one day I might find myself in her shoes.
I realized I had a responsibility to myself if I didn’t want my health to worsen. As life would have it, I am now on disability. But this has made me think. It’s really up to me and no one else. I’ve changed my eating habits, focusing on fresh, whole foods and reducing processed items. I lost 30 pounds, walked daily, and kept my mind busy with reading and writing. This blog is what’s keeping me together— all on my own, I challenged myself to get it done. I’ve volunteered as much as possible, but I’ve learned to understand how energy works and affects our entire lives. The Universe is now on my side, so I will be ok the same way you will.
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