“I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.” ~ Robert McCloskey
Three of us were slumped on our chairs last night. Everyone, including the Clinic Deputy, were all exhausted, explaining things to her but nothing was working.
In between loud sobs, a young female inmate demanded for so many requests every 5 minutes. Her face pressed on that big glass partition wall in the waiting area. She came in complaining of vaginal bleeding. 5 minutes later, she also had depression. 5 minutes later, she was also dizzy. 5 minutes later, her head hurts. 5 minutes later, she asked:
“If I hit my head in the bathroom, will you guys send me to the hospital?”
I just walked in to start my shift. The charge nurse was exhausted dealing with her and gave me her chart. She requested me to check her vital signs, whenever I was ready. While complaining to the deputy, I summoned her in. She kept talking the whole time. I only talked to her when I needed to. And concentrated on the things I needed to assess for. Her pulse and blood pressure and everything else were all normal. She denied a history of mental problem. She was at the earliest stage of being pregnant and complained of severe vaginal bleeding.
I told her to go to one of the exam rooms. As I had the Deputy stood nearby but enough to give the inmate some privacy.
“Show me your pad!” I demanded.
“What?” she acted not sure what I meant.
“Lower your pants and show me the pad they gave you earlier. If you are bleeding, I want to see how much!” I added.
There were no blood clots. There was no sign of any fresh, massive bleeding.
She didn’t know what to say. She started whining again in front of me.
“Can I stay here and wait here?” she asked, pertaining to the rows of chairs in front of the exam rooms.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you stay here. We only bring you here if you are being treated. For now, you need to go back to the waiting area until we know that you’re feeling better, then, we’ll send you back to your unit,” I explained.
And for the ensuing hours, she remained whining, sobbing, yelling, demanding for treatment as she is a “high-risk” pregnant. She wouldn’t listen to our reassurance, to our explanations of her plan of care. She ended up being brought to the Suicide Watch because she threatened to hurt herself by hitting her head.
It was mentally exhausting. To try to explain things to someone who just didn’t want to listen.
“Are you okay?” asked the Charge Nurse.
“I’m fine. Just tired,” I answered as she laughed and concurred she felt the same. But my mind was somewhere else. Of the times God must have been longing for me to learn to listen. Except that He does not feel exhausted with my behavior. He always longs. He patiently waits. He watches faithfully. He always listens to me. To my whining…But how often do I listen to Him?
How it must be frustrating also for others who just want us to listen to them. Sometimes, it’s even better not to give any advices but just to let them know that we truly care and love them. By lending a pair of ears. A shoulder to cry on. How precious it would be to learn the art of listening. Of being still and remaining focused on what someone has to say. For the ability to speak well contributes to a successful communication. But so it is with the ability to listen…
Enough for me talking here….Go ahead, friends, your turn to speak!!! I need to listen!
James 1:19 - “My dear brothers, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry…”
Going Deep at Almost 80
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