Emerging Courageous online Magazine - Stories
Mr. Negativity by Pamela Jenkins
I heard about Bill several months before I actually
met him. He was a hot topic of conversation in the doctor's office where
I took treatments for rheumatoid arthritis. The nurses were afraid of
him, and the other RA patients tried to avoid his company. This wasn't
easy to do, as the treatments lasted about three hours. Like it or not,
once a patient was settled in a chair and potent medication in the IV drip bag
was flowing, there wasn't a lot of options.
Usually I was able to share a small room with other
patients during the visit. The nurses, office manager and doctors were
in and out of our room during the course of the treatment. There was a
friendly atmosphere of laughter and conversation. Some patients were
nervous about being pricked with a needle, so this helped to relax them.
Coffee and cookies were offered, and friendships were made. We all had a
common bond. We hurt and ached, and we were seeking relief from the
pain.
My first clue that all was not well in the office
came when a flustered young nurse stopped outside the door to my room and
asked a male nurse to please take over one of her patients. She just
couldn't go back into Bill's room again. I couldn't help but overhear
the request, and it piqued my interest. Who was Bill?
Some of the other patients had already met Bill, and
they were rather relieved to have another room to sit in separate from his.
"He's quite an old curmudgeon," one whispered to me. Another
said, "He made our nurse cry. He was rude to her." There
were rumors that instead of coffee, he would ask for a shot of bourbon.
When one nurse told him she was going to give him an injection, he growled,
"Well, I'll drop my pants and moon you, but only if you'll moon me
back."
Bill's medication did not seem to be giving him the
relief from pain that was expected. This may have attributed to his
grumpiness. He was quick to tell other patients, especially the new
ones, that the treatments was worthless and they shouldn't waste their money.
He like to remind them of the side effects, scaring one young woman into
almost canceling her dose. The nurse hurried to move the young woman out
of Bill's room and into another. While the other patients tried to
reassure her, our nurse murmured, "I just don't know what we're going to
do about Mr. Negativity."
When the morning came that I finally met the infamous
Bill, I was surprised. I was expecting someone rough and intimidating.
What I saw was a frail man who walked with careful, shuffling steps. He
was dressed well, and his silver hair was neatly combed. He stopped and
stared at me before sitting down in the vacant chair next to mine. I
braced myself for the assault I was sure to come.
"Hello, I'm Bill. How are you doing
today?" he asked politely. "You takin' this stuff, too?
I'll bet by tonight you'll be the best dancer at the ball. Doesn't seem
to help me much, though." At this point one of the nurses stepped
forward and began to prepare Bill for his injection. He sighed deeply,
and I realized that the medical staff was running interference for the rest of
us, keeping Bill from bothering the patients around him.
I made up my mind then to spend a little time getting
to know Bill. A chronic illness can make a person feel isolated and
alone. I could tell he was lonely, and was probably depressed about his
lack of progress with the medication. I had been in that position myself
a few times over the years, and I understand firsthand how frustrating it
could be. It was probably hard for someone like Bill to start a
conversation with those around him when the primary thing on his mind was his
health.
It didn't take much effort to change the subject from
our aches and pains to our other interests. Before long, Bill and I were
talking about our jobs, families, church activities and life in general.
As Bill began to open up, I noticed other patients listening. He became
more animated, and his blue eyes sparkled. One of the nurses pulled up
an office chair and sat mesmerized by the tales of his younger days. The
office manager stopped and laughed at the idea of Bill pulling off pranks as a
child. The other patients were smiling, too. Our morning was
definitely looking brighter.
At the end of my doctor's visit, with the IV removed
and the Band-Aid in place, I was ready to leave for the day. I turned to
Bill and said, "It's been very nice to meet you, Bill. I've enjoyed
visiting with you today."
Bill smiled in return, and thanked me for spending a
little time with a grumpy old man. Then he added, "And you know, I
think I'm going to be feeling a lot better this time around."
I believe I will, too, Bill. In fact, I feel
better already.
by Pamela Jenkins
[email protected]
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Pamela Jenkins lives on a farm near Tulsa, Oklahoma with Stanley, her husband
of twenty-two years, and their four children. She is an office manager
and enjoys writing in her spare time.
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