Attitude of Gratitude

When I found myself in hospital at the start of 2008 I immediately decided to use the time ‘constructively’.  I would catch up with all the reading that I needed to do. I would maintain a recovery log and diarise my experience.  I would exceed my physiotherapist’s expectations. What hadn’t dawned on me, at that point, was that my intentions were simply an extension of the frenetic, compulsive lifestyle that had driven me throughout my adult life. The reality however, was that all my normal controls had failed and that my new driving seat was in fact, a bedpan.

Over the following weeks I came to see things differently.  First I collapsed into my weakness. I felt vulnerable as never before. Mortality took on a personal significance when I needed morphine before having my dressings changed and rolling over in bed.  I found reading was impossibly difficult, my brain just wasn’t working. Keeping a diary was a challenge when I could barely lift the pen. Movement of any kind was a real struggle.  It was scary new territory to be forced to feel rather than think.

Slowly appreciation was happening for me. I looked forward to the shipping forecast, to the nurses conducting routine measurements, to having my IV drips changed, to the medication trolley, to the rattle of teacups every few hours and, as never before, to visits from family and friends whose support provided a link to an almost forgotten normality. I got through the weeks of bum wiping and bed bathing from a hard pressed but ever cheerful team of nurse assistants.  Outside winter was giving way to spring. Inside, my regimented impatience was melting from the flow of human kindness and the dedicated professionalism of the staff.

Today I notice things I never saw before and appreciate deeply many other things I’d formerly taken for granted, like simple sunshine, budding daffodils, running water, deep breathing, country walking, fresh food and, most of all, every smile or tear on a human face. Tomorrow holds promise of sweet and sour experiences to calibrate my life. For now there is real joy in good health, in purposeful work, in every mouthful of food and every moment shared with friends.

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery and today is a gift we call the present.

How are you using it?

What is making today really special?

When you turn off the light tonight what will you be most thankful for?

© Paul Curran