The Hardest Steps

Yesterday morning I went to visit my grandmother at the hospital.  I pulled into the familiar parking lot of this place that has become such a significant part of my life.  Thirty five years ago, this is where my dramatic introduction to life began.  Within its walls, both of my children also drew their first breaths.  It was here that my family gathered a few years back as we waited for my dad to have major heart surgery, and we shared hugs and tears of relief when it was over and he was OK.  And now, several times per week, I park my car in that lot and enter the hospital in the stillness of night.  I walk up the stairs to the unit where I work – fully aware of the potential for life or loss, healing or decline that could be waiting to greet me on any given shift.

But yesterday, as I walked through those doors in my street clothes, without my badge, I came as a visitor, not a nurse.  I greeted Grandma with a kiss, and noticed how small she looked in that big recliner chair, hooked up to life sustaining tubes, tired from the process of moving from bed to chair.  She smiled weakly yet sincerely, answering my questions about how she felt and how well she had slept, and agreeing with my sentiments of being so glad that her surgery had gone well.

As I looked at her, recently medicated and appearing mostly comfortable in the chair, I considered why I had come.  Yes, I wanted to see that she was OK.  But more than that, I wanted to make sure that she wasn’t staying too comfortable.  I knew the critical importance of getting up and moving after a surgery in order to prevent post-operative complications and to help facilitate the healing process.

My brother arrived a few minutes later, and I asked my grandmother if she was ready to get up and try to walk or if she wanted to wait a bit longer.  She opted to wait, and I conceded, but reminded her that she would need to try to get up soon if her nurse gave us the OK.  She didn’t argue.  And I didn’t feel bad for what I asking of her.  A few years ago, I would have been much more likely to just fluff her pillows and tell her to take all the time she needed before doing the hard work of getting up and walking, in a misguided effort to protect her.  It’s hard to put ourselves, or encourage our loved ones, through intentional pain.

But you know what is harder?  To experience the results of not doing the hard, painful work during the critical time when healing or (often preventable) complications hang in the balance.  After waiting a bit, we called for the nurse to discuss my grandmother’s plan for the day.  Soon after, she was up, wearing a fuzzy green robe, with a nurse and an assistant on either side of her, and a walker in front, doing the hard work of making her body move, slow step after slow step, down the hall, and then back to her room.  It was truly inspiring.

She gave us her hallmark grin as we cheered her on, and laughingly declined when my brother joked that we could make it more interesting by having her race a few of the other patients on her unit.  Her sense of humor intact, it was encouraging to see that soon enough her physical body likely would be as well.  As my brother and I said our goodbyes, we mused about how much harder the process of healing would be if people stayed in bed for days or weeks after a surgery because it was easier or more comfortable at the time.  Muscles would start to deteriorate and life threatening complications could arise.  The hard work would still have to be done, but the irony is in how much harder that same work becomes when it is not attempted in our weakest moments.

As I left the hospital, I started to wonder how I would respond if I had been the post-operative patient.  Would I have the motivation and will power to work through the physical pain, knowing that I would be so much better off in the future for having done so?  Or would I get stuck, too afraid to move through the discomfort, ensuring greater pain as the result?  Thankfully, my physical body is currently healthy.  But I have been feeling very stuck emotionally and mentally for a while now.  I gained renewed motivation to pursue overall personal health after observing my grandmother yesterday.

I had set a personal goal a couple of months ago to become disciplined in my writing, because this is a passion that I want to pursue.  I intended to publish a blog post every two weeks, even if nobody read it.  This blog was my first significant attempt at forming a productive habit, practicing my writing skills, and gleaning wisdom from any feedback that was offered.  But after only two posts, I got stuck.  I had a topic in mind that I wanted to write about but I couldn’t get it quite right.  So I tried again and again, and I let weeks go by and posted nothing.  I missed my personal deadline several times over, and now it is harder to keep my motivation.  But I recognize how crucial it is that I write anyway.  A year from now, I imagine I will be so thankful that I sat down today to write this, because this is an exercise that will help to strengthen my passion, skills, and resolve if I stick with it.

There are so many areas in my life that have me feeling discouraged on a daily basis.  I often find myself wanting to do better, knowing that I could be doing more.  Trying to prioritize these goals and ambitions, doing the work of making actual plans and sticking to them, taking control of how I spend my time and ensuring that it is wisely … this is hard work.  And it is often exhausting and uncomfortable.  It would be easier to think about it tomorrow and turn on Netflix for today.  But the quality of my life is directly affected by the work I am willing to do now, and in trying to discern the work that God has for me to do.

As my grandmother gets out of her chair in the days and weeks to come, her steps will increase in number, and her muscles will increase in strength.  I am willing to bet that as she experiences the positive results of her efforts, her self confidence and appreciation for life will increase as well.  As I get up in the days and weeks to come, and try to put my best foot forward (especially when feeling discouraged), I will try to remember that though these are the hardest steps, they are also the most important and productive.  The steps through the pain, past the frustration, out of the places where we often get stuck, may very well bring us to a stronger place than we could have ever imagined possible.