Let’s Talk photo by Clark Berry Photography
THE ASHBY CHRONICLE:
Club Med by Ashby Jones
Ashby Jones
M
y Husband and I took a week off of work and got away, just the two of us. Since we had just been to the mountains and the water at the beach is not warm enough for swimming, we spent a week on the fourth floor of the Lexington Medical Center. Bret is going to be just fine, and so am I. This is due in large part to his stubbornness, my mean streak, our parents, our siblings, and all of you. (I will explain how you played a role in a bit).
But first, you need to know how to vacation at the Lexington Medical Center. It is not necessary to purchase fancy attire. I wore an oversized high school sweatshirt, yoga pants, Dearform bedroom slippers, and a worried expression. Everywhere I looked, people were wearing similar getups. You know how on a cruise ship you are seated with other families each night for dinner? And your waiter is the same each night and is the most charming young person you have ever met? Cruise directors want passengers to interact with other vacationers and the cruise staff, so that the cruise experience is joyful on every level (these new friendships are useful when the rotavirus hits or there is an engine fire and you all have to sleep on the deck). At the Lexington Medical Center, you will not be pressured to befriend other vacationers or the staff. If you prefer, you can put a No Visitors sign on your door and refuse to make eye contact with anyone. This vacation strategy is actually super appealing. Your loved one is hurt, you cannot stop the hurt, you are finding it difficult to use your manners, and you are tired. Everywhere I look in this hospital,
I see families surrounding a sick loved one. Like my family, these families are struggling. The questions are endless – When will he be better? When will he stop hurting? How will it be when he gets out of here? Who will help us? Then, there are the other questions – When can I go to lunch? When can I take a shower? When should I return that phone call? Every family in every room on this cruise ship is asking themselves the same questions. It is a quiet camaraderie. While we are asking ourselves if our lives will ever be the same and simultaneously wondering when we will have the next opportunity to brush our teeth, our friends arrive. Our friends are better dressed, because they have come straight from work and bathed that day. But, our friends wear the same worried expression and have the same questions – When will he be better? When will he stop hurting? How will it be when he gets out of here? We try to answer our friends’ questions. We can’t answer our friends’ questions. So we cry, and they do too. Grown men say words to their golf buddies or college roommates that have always been understood but never said
out loud. I love you. I will help you. I will take care of you. And then, the conversation strays. Beth tells about the time she almost fell through her attic into the kitchen. Since she was in a hurry to get out of town, she got in her car and drove away from her house, leaving a foot-sized hole in her kitchen ceiling. Ben is headed to the masters with his wife Liz, who is only moderately excited about golf, but super excited about reconnecting with her Augusta National security guard buddies. Wes and Donna are trading stories about their internships on the psychiatric ward during medical training, which leads us all to discuss the varying degrees of “crazy” and what is actually required to receive a formal “crazy” diagnosis, anyway? All over this hospital, on about every surface, are stacks of this magazine. If you are reading this magazine, chances are you are in this hospital, sitting in a waiting room and worrying. Maybe you are here to support a spouse. Maybe you are here visiting your high school best friend as she waits for her husband’s surgery to be complete. Maybe you are here for a coworker because you can’t relax at work knowing she is here.
In any case, thank you. Thank you for sitting here. Thank you for listening, for filling the silence, for asking the questions, for telling the silly stories. Thank you for holding her hand. Thank you for telling him you love him, and for saying it out loud this time. Thank you for showing up and not knowing what to say. Thank you for showing up and saying the wrong thing. Thank you for forgiving us when we say the wrong thing. The truth is, whether we choose to sit with the strange family at dinner and learn a little about the charming young waiter or not, we are all on this vacation together. We all want to arrive at the same port, the one where concerns are what are we having for dinner and who is going to pick up the dry cleaning. Within each of these cabins, prayers are being spoken, families are showing love, and friends are showing up. This bundle of humanity, along with the expertise only Lexington Medical Center offers, serves to steadily steer this ship. And you, Lexington Women, you are here for when the ship veers off its course or has to momentarily rest. Thank you for this. Thank you for being our anchor.
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