Since the lamest day in July when I accidentally almost cut my fingers off, I have laughed occasionally, cried too much, and whined constantly.  I want to clarify to everyone that I know. I KNOW.  It’s word vomit, and it’s out before I can stop it because I always think right before it happens that it will make me feel better, but it doesn’t, because I actually hate sympathy, but I always forget.  It’s that classic emotional paradox limbo I like to live in where I’m not sure what I want until I have what I DON’T want, and then I know, but not a moment sooner. 

ANYWAY, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.  Today was the first day that I found myself teary in gratitude, which makes me feel like kind of a jerk.  From the moment it happened I was surrounded by the NICEST health care professionals I’ve ever come in contact with.  You know all those stories about how health care people just see symptoms and solutions and not a patient?  Totally untrue. Those people have just been watching House for too long.  My EMTs were kind and attentive and sympathetic.  My ER doctors, oh my God, I still tear up when I think of how nice they were, and how calm they kept me for almost 5 hours.

My hand surgeon was neither here nor there in bedside manner, but he’s done a great job and I unequivocally would never have been able to use my hand the same again if it weren’t for him. 

And the Occupational Therapists!  Wow.  I’ve been getting OT twice a week since my surgery, and the hand specialists at Virginia Hospital Center--yes, I am using the real name because I would be HAPPY for someone to stumble into this blog and know that I worship the ground these women walk on—are the kindest and most patient attentive professionals you can imagine.  They are always trying old tricks, new tricks, machines, lotions, wraps and massages to get you back to your normal self.  They chat, they make you comfortable, and they really create a sense of healing and well being there.  I actually LOVE waking up early and going to physical therapy to start my day. 

Today I went to the Hospital food court to get a coffee and yogurt before I went to work, and as I was sitting in the midst of all these many scrub laden people, chatting, laughing, consoling-it really really really made me wish that I worked at a hospital.  I suppose not every hospital is the Virginia Hospital Center, with such all over good vibes, but there is something deeply moving about healthcare I’d never felt a connection to until I was at the mercy of it.

I’ve always been moved by the Olympics, of seeing people live their pinnacle moment and the humanity of it all. I’ve always loved art because it’s such an honest and personal expression of ourselves.  I’ve always loved history because it demonstrates us as a whole of what we are and what we collectively choose to remember ourselves by.  And even though I know people get into it to “help people” I always really thought of it as a hard, unfeeling science.

So yeah, what do I know? Doctors, Nurses and Therapists are people who see us when we are most vulnerable, most stripped of our barriers, and often when we’ve just done something incredibly idiotic, and don’t take advantage of it.  In a world of Youtube, Failblog, and Stuffwhitepeoplelike, (that I admit all of which I use, follow, and love)  which exist essentially for the streamlining of mockage and humiliation, it’s nice to know there are still safezones.

It’s not a hard fast rule, but after 2 months in the system, I am going to determine from my end that: Healthcare People=Good People.