Transformative experience: A day in the hospital ward
Most people I have come across speak about their fear of the sight of blood while other opt to take the opportunity to classify themselves as the exception as they assert to the fallacy in such behaviour. My experience however has led me to conclude that most people have not witnessed the events that transpire in the hospital ergo basing their proclamations to pure ego. I was once among the naysayers to the belief that someone could feel such compulsion towards such a basic thing as blood considering that I have sustained injuries countless times but had never experienced first-hand any form of resentment towards the sight of the “red goo” oozing from my body. However, things change and the once courageous person that I once esteemed myself to be crumbled to the sight of what I would characterize as chaos and anarchy of a sight I never thought could have such a recoiling effect to my perception of life and respect for the human body.
One Saturday morning, having the responsibility of ensuring that my sick cousin receives medical treatment for his kidney problem, I woke up and rushed to my aunt’s house to pick him up. He was in bad shape to say the least judging from the swells in almost every part of his body from the head to the toe. It was crucial that he has accompaniment as he went for his dialysis treatment. I was happy to oblige, as it was the least I could do for my cousin at this time of his great need for comfort. It was my first time taking him to the hospital so I followed his lead through the various doorways to the destination. The distinct smell of the hospital had never hit me as it did on that day, it felt stronger and stronger as we got deeper into the hospital. My closest experience with the “hospital” before this was at a dentist appointment for a tooth removal though it never felt the same as it did on this particular day. We passed different stations and on each intersection to another door, there was always a person sitting on the visitors’ chair who you could tell just by looking at them that they were critically sick. Other patients strolled along the hallways with hoisted titration bags dragging their feet staring downwards with a look on their face that spelled their oblivion to whatever was groining on around them and more in tune with the anguish under their skin.
I tried to convince myself that the revelations flashing through my eyes were ordinary but the thoughts eventually got under my skin when we got to the ward. I could see a stream of people lying on their beds hooked to machines with tubes filled with the red liquid passing to and from the machine. I felt a shrill go down my spine and the moment became picture perfect right before my eyes; believe what you see. Soon as I calmed down and embodied my new environment, it downed on me that it was not about the fear of blood but what the fear symbolises. My cousin explained to me the whole process of how blood from the body, is cleaned and returned back to the body through the humongous machine ironically serving the purpose arguably a single organ four inches long and two inches thick accomplished without my intervention whatsoever. I found new meaning to life through that experience paying more respect to my body and recognizing the importance of aspects that I took for granted in the past. My life completely transformed from that day from appreciating the importance of a healthy diet to performing exercises daily to better the status of my health. I choose a new direction not in fear but rather in appreciation of the essence of life and the different components that integrate to make it a reality.