I’m on a gurney in a hospital gown and my wool socks. My bp is high. I think I can feel my heart pounding. The
doctor is late, hasn't even arrived.
Someone in the adjoining curtained-off “room” can’t stop cataloging all
of her ailments. She’s next, that is,
when the doctor arrives. I realize that I’m
not even close to getting drugs to calm me down. I keep thinking that I didn't tell my husband
how much I love him, how much I need him.
I keep thinking of my high bp and pounding heart. I keep thinking of Marcus Aurelius’ advice
about calming your mind, facing death with confidence, and managing
crisis.
I keep thinking and
thinking. But my heart keeps
pounding. And there I see it. The device with the button to push for
help. I will not push that button. I will act like a good Stoic. I will control my thoughts. But I can’t seem to control my heart
pounding. I push the button and ask if
my husband can join me. Sure. He does. He helps me breathe evenly. He distracts me with chit-chat about last night’s
movie. He looks worried and tender-hearted. My heart seems better. The doctor arrives and my neighbor is wheeled
away. I ask to use the restroom, mainly
so I can get up and move around.
Sure. It’s so easy. I ask for help and get it. Not very stoic, I grant you. But try as I may, it seems to go against my
nature to calm my brain on my own. I
need someone else. Perhaps, that’s not
such a bad thing.
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