> ALBERT > > Working in a hospital with recent stroke patients was an all-or-nothing > proposition. They were usually so grateful to be alive or just wanted > to die. A quick glance told all. > Albert taught me much about strokes. One afternoon while making rounds I'd > met him, curled in a fetal > position. A pale, dried-up old man with a look of death, head half-buried > under a blanket. He didn't budge when I introduced myself, > and he said nothing when I referred to dinner "soon." > At the nurse's station, an attendant provided some history. He had > no one. He'd lived too long. Wife of thirty years dead, five sons gone. > Well,. Maybe I could help. A chunky but pretty divorced nurse > avoiding the male population outside of work, I could satisfy a need. I > flirted. The next day I wore a dress, not my usual nursing uniform but > white. > No light on. Curtain drawn. Albert hollered at the staff to get out. I > pulled a chair close to his bed, > crossing my shapely legs, head tilted. I gave him a perfect smile. "Leave > me. I want to die." "What a crime, all us single women out there." He > looked annoyed. I rambled on about how I liked working rehab > unit because I got to watch people reach their maximum potential. > It was a place of possibilities. He said nothing. Two days later during > shift report, I learned that Albert had asked > when I'd be "on." The charge nurse referred to him as my "boyfriend > and word got around. I never argued. Outside his room, I `d tell > others not to bother "my Abler." Soon he agreed to "dangle', sit on the > side of the bed to build up > sitting Tolerance, energy and balance. He agreed to "work" with > physical therapy if I'd return to "talk." Two months later, Albert was on a > walker. By the third month, he'd > progressed to a cane. Friday's we celebrated discharges with a > barbecue. Albert and I danced to Edith Piaf. He wasn't graceful, > but he was leading. Tear-streaked cheeks touched as we bade > our good-byes Periodically roses, mums and sweet peas would turn up. He was > gardening again. Then one afternoon, a lovely lavender-clad > women came on the unit demanding "that hussy." My supervisor called; I was > in the middle of giving a bed bath. So you're the one! The women who > reminded my Albert that he's > a man!" Her head titled in full smile as she handed me a > wedding invitation > > > Sometimes we expect far too much of the people around us, and > because no one can ever live up to those expectations, we are almost > always disappointed. But wouldn't it be better if we just let go, and let > people be who they are? Then we'd be able to see them as they > are--with all their beauty and goodness in which we take joy, and with > all their faults which we can also see in ourselves. > When we have put someone up on a pedestal, sculpturing them to fit > our needs and desires by smoothing out the rough edges and creating > new curves here and there, we cannot see the real person underneath > our work. All we see is the illusion we have created. That is denying the > person's real identity and is disrespectful. It's much better for our > friends and for ourselves if we drop our expectations and illusions, and > accept them all just the way they are. > > > > .·:*´¨`*:·..·:*´¨`*:·. *: * Richiele * * *·. .·* `*·-:¦:-*´ ³´`*:»§«:*´`³