Each day they entered with muffled greetings, their plastic shrouds rustling. There was an inevitable flurry of activity as they consulted dials and meters. Somewhere behind goggles I imagined I could see their eyes while anonymous hands checked the various tubes connecting my body to machines. I gave my usual offerings of blood and they left.
On the third day, a small group entered as usual, but this time they ripped away their plastic coverings, expressing relief through their masks. They announced that I did not have Covid, came closer to my bed and stayed a little longer to ask their questions. I glimpsed the individuals who had been concealed by their plastic wrappings.
More days passed and fewer staff came into my room, often alone, sometimes staying to exchange a few words. It was my turn to ask questions. (I want to know something about you)
Then the stories began.,
We like to travel where there is interesting food ….
I love to learn and learn…
I grew up in 2 different countries and I cook dishes to remind me of them.
My baby grandson loves to hear white noise to fall asleep.
My seven-year old loves to read. He often forgets to turn on the virtual classroom because he is reading. Then he gets into trouble with the teacher….
I am studying to be a psychologist; I want to practice here and in my home country.
I want to go to Canada to see snow for the first time.
My whole family are nurses.
As the days pass, the stories became more intimate:
I push gurneys by day and take classes at night.
We moved countries when I was a teenager and it was hard.
I worry about my best friend, she helps so many people and doesn’t look after herself.
We make a big celebration each time because my sons will have so few birthdays.
I had a cruel,abusive father and so I want to help incarcerated youth.
I worry about my mother. She’s also a nurse.
How do you hold onto hope with all the fires and floods and sick, very sick people. There’s no rest. We are worn out.
Each time I get home I feel grateful.
Just as I entrusted them with my body and my health, they entrusted me with their stories.
As I leave the hospital holding my small bag, I am also carrying many stories, of dreams, fears, hopes and grief. I am honored to have spent this time with people who are dedicated to taking care of us when we are at our most vulnerable.
I often think of each of my storytellers and wish them many blessings.
I don’t want their stories to disappear.