“Humble
yourselves, therefore, under God’s mighty hand, that he may lift you up in due
time.” 1 Peter 5:6
What is humility? According to
Merriam-Webster.com, it is “the quality or state of not thinking you are better
than other people”. In essence, humility is the exact opposite of pride, which according
to Merriam-Webster.com, is “a deep pleasure or satisfaction derived from one’s
own achievements or from qualities or possessions that are widely admired”. To
me, the difference between humility and pride can be seen in the ability to
accept oneself fully as God’s perfect creation, not having to prove oneself through
outward actions or appearance: someone who is ok to just “be”. It is the
ability to care more about what God thinks about you and how you represent Him
rather than superficial things such as outward appearance and personal achievements.
Humility is mainly concerned with “what would God think” whereas pride focuses
on “what would people think”. In my opinion, humility is one of the hardest
lessons to learn since it implies such brutal self-denial and the afflictive
stripping of pride: the core of a fallen and hopelessly sinful human-being; this requires
completely ridding oneself of what is comfortable, familiar and innate in order
to pursue something so unnatural and seemingly absurd. One must be crazy, in my
opinion, to ask God to teach them humility, but it is essential to Christianity
and in essence, aren’t all Christians a little “crazy” in the world’s eyes? According
to Proverbs 11:2, “Pride leads to disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom”.
Today just may have earned its status as
the most humbling and/or embarrassing day, of which there have been many, of my
life. God’s plans are not my own—that is for sure—but yet when I simply let go
of my pride & selfish desires, His plans become oh so beautiful and
absolutely perfect! As some of you may know, I’ve recently been struggling with
a severe case of rectal prolapse, which is extremely rare for someone of my age;
although the professionals have told me it’s most likely not due to my history
of anorexia, I still wonder if it didn’t play a part; although I may never know
if this sudden emergency came about due to the lack of food and peristalsis in
my colon which in turn led to muscle weakness or possibly due to laxative abuse
weakening my pelvic floor, I am convinced it at least played a part. Despite
how it came about, however, I was informed by several doctors, surgeons, and
specialists that it was severe enough to require surgery; in fact, that surgery
was the only option since it’d become so advanced. I won’t go into the details
just yet about how I found out about this condition, since it is such a long
story, but I will, however, tell you about my crazy day—when I once again
tiptoed on death’s unexpected horizon.
In order to ensure there were no other
problems going on inside of me, the surgeon recommended I have a colonoscopy
done to allow for detailed internal visualization. For those of you who don’t
know, a colonoscopy entails inserting a small camera through the anus and into
the colon to look for any abnormalities such as polyps (abnormal
masses/growths); in order for clear visualization to be possible, however, the
colon must be completely rid of all
wastes (did you know that the colon is as long as we are tall and that for every foot of colon we can store around
5-10 pounds of waste; so, with me
being a little over five feet tall, this means I had to get rid of 25-50 lbs of
feces—had my colon been completely full) which is accomplished through a strict
(and brutal, I must add) preparation regime the day prior to the procedure.
This prep involved taking 7 laxatives, a full bottle of magnesium citrate and
fleet enema as well as maintaining a clear liquid diet until midnight, with no
food or drink the day of the procedure. Since my body is still malnourished,
this preparation literally sent it over the edge, as my body couldn’t handle the excessive vomiting and diarrhea resulting from the large amount of laxatives and dehydration.
This morning, as I awoke to an
overwhelmingly nauseous stomach and uncontrollable bowels, I finished the prep
and quickly got ready for what would become the adventure of a lifetime. With
my stubborn spirit and prideful attitude, I refused to be wheeled to my
destination in a wheelchair but rather insisted on walking the entire way,
despite the fact I could barely move without being overtaken with an
overwhelming sense of nausea and lightheadedness (of which I of course kept to
myself) since I’d had nothing to eat for over 24 hours and had lost excessive
amounts of fluid and electrolytes due to vomiting and diarrhea. As I was
exiting the elevator, my mom noticed me suddenly stop and grab hold of the
elevator’s edge and say, “I’m going to pass out”, so she quickly ran to catch
me before I hit the ground, as my legs crumbled beneath me. For the next five
minutes or so I completely lost consciousness, as a doctor frantically tried to
keep me awake while a nurse ran for a wheelchair; they then (although I don’t
recall ever being in a wheelchair or even entering the ER) set me in the
wheelchair, with my mom holding my head to keep it from falling, and literally
ran me through several hallways into the Emergency Room. During the frantic
rush, my mom, while holding onto my limp head, distraughtly asked if I was still breathing since she says I resembled a deceased person in a casket, and told the doctors and nurse that I was anorexic; they
immediately stopped--dropping everything--to take my pulse in order to ensure I was in fact still alive, ensuring my heart hadn't ceased to beat. As soon as we reached
an empty room, I was transferred to a bed, my clothing stripped and an EKG
performed to ensure my heart was beating normally; I finally regained
consciousness as the EKG was being performed and looked around to see where on
earth I’d ended up, since I last recalled being on an elevator. As I was gaining
consciousness, with light fading from dark to light and sounds
disappearing/reappearing, I began to convulsively “dry heave” and they
immediately held a barf bag up to my mouth, even though there was nothing left to
come out. The EKG came back normal and then an IV was immediately inserted into
my arm to allow for rapid hydration into my severely dehydrated and shriveled
cells; several tubes of blood were then taken to monitor my electrolytes and then immediately sent to the lab for STAT evaluation. Once the room calmed down a little and I was able
to begin to relax, I noticed an intense pressure in my abdomen and immediately
recognized it as the onset of uncontrollable diarrhea, but fought to hold it in
while the doctor asked me questions; as soon as he left, I sheepishly asked the
nurse for a bed pan, which I must say was one of the most humbling experiences
of my life; with working in the Intensive Care Unit as a nurse tech, I’ve
assisted countless patients to use the bed pan and can now fully understand the
utter embarrassment and shame accompanying its presence. I believe it’s true that
no one can understand or empathize with someone in the way that one can had
they also been through it; personal experience is such a gift (although it may
not seem like it) not just to the individual but to countless others who’ve also
struggled with the same thing.
After a full bag of IV fluid had been
administered into my veins at a rapid pace and Zofran (an anti-nausea med) had
pretty well diminished my nausea/vomiting, I was wheeled to endoscopy where my
colonoscopy was to be performed, since we’d contacted the surgeon to explain
what’d happened and then decided to go ahead with the procedure so I wouldn’t
have to go through the prep again. After a multitude of papers were signed, I
was wheeled into the procedure room; here they allowed me to watch the entire
procedure and ask questions rather than being anesthetized and put to sleep,
which would be dangerous due to my low weight. I was able to visualize my
colon, which was as clean as a whistle due to all the prep work, and after what
seemed like five minutes, the surgeon informed me we were done and that
everything looked great. Shortly after finishing the procedure, I was allowed
to be discharged. I was absolutely blown away by the quality of care I’d
received and truly felt understood and worthwhile, which has been a rare
occurrence with my past medical history. I had fun conversing with the nurses
and asking them questions, reminding me of why I am still wholeheartedly
pursuing a career in nursing; I’m so grateful for every experience I’ve been
given, no matter how painful, because I know they will ultimately mold me into
the best nurse I can be: full of compassion and most of all, understanding,
since experience is the greatest teacher. Humility is not a fun lesson to
learn, but in the end the benefits far outweigh the negatives!
