Brave Face

About a month ago, my best friend and I decided we were going to start training to run a marathon. Neither have us have ever attempted anything close, but decided it would be a great accomplishment and since the group we are training with is supporting a great cause we figured it was a no-brainer.

In the past, the only time I've ever ran has been when someone was chasing me, and I have to admit, I don't recall being chased all that much. But my friend's support, and the knowledge that we were part of something bigger than ourselves really helped get me motivated. My friend and I completed a five mile run last Saturday and were due for the 6 mile run this weekend. Neither of us could make the scheduled 7am run so I went around noon by myself and she had to wait until much later when she got off work which was about 9pm.

Around 10pm I get a call from my friend who was out of breath and sounding a bit upset. She told me she tripped over an uneven sidewalk and as she put her hand forward to break the fall, fearing that she also broke her wrist. This was bad news on so many levels.

1. My friend does not have insurance.
2. My friend is a hair stylist and depends on her right hand for her bread and butter.
3. As most Californians, is already scarily trying to make ends meet.

I immediately picked her up and drove her to the E.R. closest to where we live which was a clean, hospitable environment. She was seen in a reasonable amount of time, got X-rays, and waited for the results. We were hoping for a bad sprain.

A little while later an abrupt nurse with a strange sense of humor and a bad cold comes in and tells my friend that not only is her wrist broken but that she'll likely have to have surgery to fix it. The nurse, not having a clue how devastating this news was to my friend, could not grasp why my friend was in tears. She probably thought, "It's only a broken wrist...what's the big deal??" But to my friend, it was so much more. It was the reminder that no matter what, she cannot seem to catch a break. It was another worry to worry about, and another reality check that her already paycheck to paycheck situation is headed for even more trouble.

Once the doctor realized she didn't have insurance he informed her that she could not get the surgery at that hospital. We'd have to go to "County" which was 13 miles away.

I tried to console her as best I could, but what can you do or say when a situation legitimately sucks??? As I sat there with her she cried and looked at me with the saddest tear filled eyes and frowning, quivering mouth and said pleadingly, "I can't put on a brave face anymore. I just can't do it." My friend has endured so much in the past year, and throughout her entire life even. Knowing all that she has faced over the years, I can tell you, she has worn that brave face well. In my best attempts at consoling her, I kept thinking to myself, it really just isn't fair.

After the doctor put the splint on and sent us on our not so merry way we got in my car and proceeded to drive out of the E.R. parking lot. At the light, an older woman who I had seen in the E.R. earlier walked up to my passenger side door and asked if we could drive her to the train station up the street. It was a strange request, and despite the woman's frail, weak state, I was very hesitant to oblige at first. She then began to explain in very broken English that she was having chest pains so she called the ambulance. When they came she explicitly told them to take her to a General hospital because she does not have insurance. The ambulance drivers said they could only take her to Huntington, which is private. When she got there she decided not to be seen because she knew the hospital bills would exceed her tight budget, so she walked around aimlessly trying to figure out what to do next.

I told her to get in and that I'd drive her home. As we drove, she began sobbing from the depths of her soul. She started telling us that her 35 year old daughter died a few months ago and that she attributed her chest pains to the grief of her loss. She seemed to have very little. She obviously had no one to take her to or from the hospital, and from the wellspring of tears that came forth from her tired wrinkly little face, something told me she didn't have many people to share her pain with either. The nearer we got to her house the more frequently she'd say, "But I feel better now, I do. I feel better now," as if she was trying hardest to convince herself. She too, was struggling to keep up the "brave face."

Today, I had to take my friend to the other hospital which was an experience that deserves its own blog. For nine hours of my life I felt like I was in a third world country. I very literally never saw or smelled anything like what I experienced today.

I will tell you this, when I came home tonight, I got in the tub to soak away the stench of rotting flesh that lingered in the emergency room for most of the day, and I just started to sob. The reality of my own "Brave Face" set in and I just hit a point where I realized that I wish I could just yield to it. I wish there existed a time and space where I didn't have to hustle all the time, or run from one idea the next, or fear, question, debate, or work towards this or that.

The fact of the matter is that so many of us, me included, have that brave face on everyday out of pure necessity, because if we take it off, we might surely die, or at least, that's how it feels sometimes. As I sat in my tub, surrounded by silence I wept at the possibility that maybe God is the one being who allows us the luxury of being who we are, minus the brave face. Minus all the crap we hide behind that just helps us make it through the day. Maybe God is the one thing, being, force, entity, whatever...who speaks quietly to our souls and says, it's okay, you don't have to be brave right now. You can let down your guard, it is safe, I am with you. But what is even more important than just hearing the words, the words are actually true.

I think of my friend, and I want so much for her to have a sense that she is safe, protected, taken care of, and not by her own strength, or her own goddam health insurance. And I want to tell the little old lady whose daughter died, that it is okay that her heart hurts so bad from grief, and that she doesn't have to be okay, because it safe for her to be hurt and sad, and in need of help. But the reality is, they do have to have brave faces. Plain and simple. And I hate that.

I hope that somehow, some way, we find the quietest of moments to yield to the "brave face" facades, whatever form they may come in, in safe places where we are cared for and nurtured back to health.