I'm Scared

Imagine yourself on your back in a hospital bed, the foot and head of the bed raised a bit to encourage proper circulation, unable to change position, unable to lift your head up, unable to hold onto the side rails. Your beloved is sitting next to you, and you're holding your beloved's hand, unable to squeeze it hard like you used to, unable to express yourself, unable to even keep your eyes open.

Suddenly, two people in uniforms enter your room, saying it's time to change you. Your beloved moves to the side of the room as these two people roll your bed away from the wall, flanking it, raising it up higher, lowering the feet and head. It feels as though you are being jerked around, even though they are being gentle and friendly. You hold onto your blanket desperately as they try to uncover you, to change you. What is happening? You are anxious. Using your bed pad, they turn you to one side, then the other, as they efficiently remove your soiled, disposable briefs and fasten the tabs on clean ones. You are indignant and complain the only way you can, by wailing.

Now, they say they are going to move you up in your bed. You are tall, and your feet are touching the footboard. They need to reposition you. They are standing over you, very close. They take hold of your bed pad and count one, two, three. You feel helpless as you are suddenly projected backwards, your head landing just short of the headboard. You whispered something towards the ceiling in mid-motion, your voice small, weak, raspy:  "I'm scared."

Your beloved hears this again as the carer repeats it. It's devastating, demoralizing. A punch in the heart. These are words you have never, ever voiced out loud, probably, to anyone. And for you to say them now, when you cannot really speak, makes them doubly tragic. Especially heartbreaking.

But of course you are scared, my darling. Anyone would be afraid in such a helpless position. When the carers come in, you don't know what they're going to do to you. When they turn you to the side, you don't know that you aren't going to keep going over the edge. When they move you up in your bed, it feels as though you are flying through the air backwards, and you have no way to break the fall you're expecting. You're completely at their mercy.

They leave the room, and I sit next to you again to calm you, holding your hand, stroking your cheek, your hair, whispering in your ear, "Don't be afraid, my darling. You are safe. I love you. God loves you. There is nothing to fear. Everything is going to be all right."

And it will. But not yet.