Sometimes, just when you think you are doing well, you get a little humbling shove from God. I remember as a child taking ice skating lessons. I was clinging to the instructor so I wouldn’t fall. As I gained more confidence, I let go and looked for my friend yelling “Look at me!” And my feet lifted off the ice and BAMM! Down I went.
As a hospice nurse and director, I had many humbling experiences. Some funny, some not. Working as a home hospice nurse, I had an orientee with me. She was orienting to on call, and we were called out at 2 am to put a new IV in a young woman waiting for a heart lung transplant. She required medication and could not go without it. We met at the residence and went in, speaking to the patient and family and finally were able to locate a vein and start an IV. And it was a hard IV. We ended up finding a vein in her thumb. I was really impressed with myself!! As we were leaving, I said my goodbyes and opened the door to leave. The orientee too said her goodbyes and walked out behind me closing the door. At that moment, I realized we’d walked into and closed the closet door, not the apartment door!! Sheepishly we opened the door, enjoyed our laugh and left!! Great orientation!!
A favorite patient of mine was an Irish gentleman. I loved visiting him. Except he had a bird. A parakeet who flew freely. And the parakeet would always head for my head when I went in. He was trying to land. I was trying to duck!! I took to putting a throw pillow on my head when I visited. Didn’t do much but give the patient a good laugh. One day on my way to visit I saw a craft store and went in and bought a fake bird with a wire. I wired it onto the corner of my glasses and walked in the home like nothing was different. No flying bird, but a crying hysterically patient. Sometimes we let down our pride!
But I remember less funny humble moments. I was diagnosed with macular degeneration over 20 years ago and recently, was noticing changes in my depth perception. In the meantime, several members of our hospice staff had developed COVID. Staffing was challenged and I volunteered to help out 3-11 in the hospice inpatient unit. I offered to do whatever the nurse wanted me to do to help her. She sent me to deliver eye drops to a patient who was not responsive and whose eyes were dry. We needed to provide drops to help her comfort. As I was preparing to administer the drops, my central vision could not determine exactly where to drop the liquid. Drops spilled onto the patient’s cheek and in her eye, thank goodness. Minutes later, the nurse asked me to flush an IV and my central vision didn’t allow me the coordination to connect each end. I asked the person I came to help, to help me. It is humbling to admit you cannot do something you’ve done time and time again. The nurse was kind. “Thank you for coming in. I’ll take the things that need hand to eye coordination. Just you being here makes me thankful.” Of course, the story spread. We could laugh, but no one ever let me give them an injection again!!
In the early 1990s as AIDs was becoming more common place, we still were not entirely sure of transmission. I always believed myself fearless. I’d always do anything I’d ask my staff to do. I also knew that providing hospice care carried an emotional drain on people. So often they’d come in to chat or laugh or just be heard. One day one of my nurses ran into my office, threw his arms around my neck and began to sob, uncontrollably. He told me he’d been diagnosed as HIV+. His tears were running down my arm, and for a brief second, I thought “Oh, no! Would I get AIDs? ” I knew not, but I still thought…Humbling. Enlightening.
To say the least I’ve been humbled so far this year with illness and its burdens. I’ve learned though, that becoming humble allows for introspection and grace. Humility lets others help me and hopefully learn from that. Humility says let go. Laugh, cry, learn. It’s all good.
Humility helps me to surrender to something greater.
Walking Each Other Home 