Sometimes the best way to heal is a little bit of love.
Comfort. Noun. A state of physical ease and freedom from pain or constraint. The easing or alleviation of a person’s feelings of grief or distress.
If you were asked to define comfort, what would you say? It’s easy to describe getting into relaxing clothing or eating favorite foods, but the true definition is deeper. The world can be a stressful place to live in, so seeking comfort is at the forefront of people’s minds and health.
So again, what is comfort to you? For me, it is being able to cuddle with my dogs at the end of a long day. But it’s also being able to tell myself that everything is going to be alright. At the age of 20, you wouldn’t think I’d have to remind myself of that so often, but I have been doing it since 2008.
I grew up with kids always pointing and staring at my family. When you would see us out, my younger brother and I would be running ahead of my parents, my father alongside my mother, pushing her oxygen tank. We were young, seven and four years old, so we didn’t know it was out of the ordinary. We would take turns riding on the oxygen cart. Other children always asked to feel the air that came out of my mom’s tank, but the adults always rushed them off like she was some monster.
My mother was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis in 2001. To simplify the medical jargon, she had scarring of her lung tissues that made it hard to breathe. She had to take frequent trips to IU Health Methodist Hospital for checkups, tests, and treatments. However, after exhausting all medical options, she was put on the transplant waiting list.
When she received her life-saving call in 2008, I remember being carried to the car with my Raggedy Ann and Andy quilt and drawing on the cold car window all the way up to Indianapolis. While my parents stressed out about the final steps of surgery, my brother and I were running around the hospital playing with the train displays. I remember walking out of the elevator the next day, the nurse and I holding onto my Raggedy Ann doll. We walked into my mother’s hospital room and there she was: no nose-hose in sight.
The next 11 days seemed like forever to me. I remember drawing snowflakes, snowmen, and family portraits, all that were hung up by the nurses. I drew the nurses their own snowmen and dolls, which they laughed at and hung on their desks. We received crocheted Christmas trees my brother and I would decorate with pipe cleaners, and we watched Animal Planet on the television in the hospital bed with my mother. Now, 13 years later, we are still putting up the same crocheted Christmas tree with its pipe cleaner ornaments when the holiday season rolls around.
Going through the transplant process again, at the age of 18, proved a lot more stressful. After almost 11 years my mother’s body went into rejection, meaning her immune system failed to recognize her new lungs and tried to get rid of them like it does a virus. I had to step up my senior year of high school and juggle my own school work and extracurriculars with taking my brother to his practices and making dinner. The uncertainty of my mom’s life was a lot of pressure for all of us to handle, and it never dawned on me how much I was carrying until we got the call again in 2019.
Looking back on all of my 20 years of life, I was most comfortable in a hospital room. It wasn’t because of “Alfred,” my mom’s new llama pillow, or a snowflake drawing, it was because I no longer had to worry about the uncertainty of my mom living to come to my graduation, my wedding, my child’s birth, and so many other big life events. For her, it was being surrounded by the people she loved that brought her comfort, and when we couldn’t be there, photos, drawings, llamas, and blankets were all there to support her through the hardest thing she’s ever had to do.
Ball State freshman Kennedy Brantley can relate to my experience with hospitals more than most.
“Honestly it was one of the worst experiences I can think of,” Kennedy says. “Seeing my dad struggle to hold a conversation with us, mostly because of the medications he was on, was rough. It didn’t really seem like I was talking to my dad, and I couldn’t stop crying the whole time. I remember I sat in the waiting area for a really long time because I didn’t want to leave immediately after I had gotten there, but I only stayed for one day because it was too difficult to watch.”
At the age of 16 years old, Kennedy found her father facing the inevitability of genetic diseases. He suffered from polycystic kidney disease for five years, a hereditary disease that his grandmother had. They knew the journey would be long and difficult, with an unknown timeline and dialysis treatments. The long-term solution to this disease is a kidney transplant, but since the need for organ donation has increased, so has the wait time for patients.
“I remember every single thing that happened [when we got the call],” Kennedy says. “We were off school for a ‘Red for Education’ teacher’s wage awareness day. I had bought tickets for a Lana Del Rey concert with my best friend in Nashville and my mom and her best friend were going with us to hang out in the city while we were at the concert. My mom received a call from my dad and he was crying hysterically. He told her that the Louisville transplant center had called him and that he had to be there within three hours of the call. Immediately everyone in the car started crying with joy, and I turned to the closest exit. I still remember there was a Love’s Gas Station. I turned around and admittedly sped as fast as I could without being reckless.”
Kennedy said they turned an hour drive into about 30 minutes. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Kennedy burst out of the car and hugged her dad. They all had tears streaming down their faces. In true parental fashion, he told Kennedy: “You better get back on the road before you miss your concert.” Due to the lengthy transplantation process, she decided to drive back toward Nashville. When they were waiting in line for the concert, Kennedy’s dad FaceTimed her right before going into surgery. Looking back, she still considers it the craziest and happiest day of her life. However, his time in the hospital was no easy ride.
Floor nurse Megan Noble has traveled to several hospitals since she began working in 2012. During her nine years as a nurse, she has seen thousands of patients and their families. With the stress of extended hospital stays, Noble has witnessed how families come together during these difficult times to make their loved ones comfortable.
“I have seen patients bring in all sorts of things to make their room more like home. The most common thing I think is pillows from home and a favorite blanket, hospital linen is made to be used over and over and it just is not the same as what we use at home,” Megan says. “I think depending on how long a patient is going to have to stay in the hospital determines what kinds of things they might bring in. A quick overnight stay is kind of like a hotel stay, you don’t need much but a long stay like months people tend to make their rooms feel more like home.”
Kennedy still remembers what they brought to her father’s hospital room when he was recovering after his transplant surgery. At the top of his list was his own pillow and throw blankets from home, as well as his everyday clothes so he could begin feeling normal as quickly as possible.
“I think making the hospital room homier helped my dad and our family to try to forget that we were in the hospital and focus on celebrating the fact that my dad received a new chance at life,” Kennedy says. “When you see someone so close to you in that position, it makes it difficult to see the positive outcome of the situation.”
Making a patient feel comfortable isn’t just a family’s job. The doctors and nurses put in extra effort to help patients through their time at the hospitals. Megan recalls buying many birthday cakes and decorations for her patients because no one wants to be in a hospital on their birthday. She has crocheted scarves, hand warmers, and hats for patients, too.
“I think anytime you have to be in the hospital it is stressful and as humans, we find comfort in things we are used to,” Megan says. “In the hospital, you have to keep to the hospital schedule and what the doctors and nurse need or want you to do with little say as to when and how it happens, bringing comfort items from home gives patients a sense of normalcy and also helps them focus and remember what they have to look forward to when they are able to go home.”
There is no better way to look forward than to thank the donor. According to WebMD, it’s common for recipients and families to feel guilty about receiving the gift of life, but connecting with donor families is one of the main ways to overcome the guilt and to honor their memories. Kennedy says they hung up the donor family’s letter on the wall of the hospital room so that they could read and reflect on how grateful they were for their donor, and for her dad to get his second chance at life.
“I remember when we first arrived in the room there was nothing to remind me of how lucky we were to be in this situation,” Kennedy says. “It was difficult to see all the pain and emotions during that time and remember how lucky our family was that my dad was going to survive. I think if there are people going through this same situation, remind yourself that it is perfectly okay to be upset and scared.”
Megan recalls a time when a patient encouraged her to try out a particular crochet stitch. The pair worked on the stitch during the patient’s treatment. Megan still has the book, hook, and yarn. In fact, her collection of memorabilia is full of crafts patients have tried during their time in the hospital.
“I think when you take care of patients, especially as a nurse, you develop a unique relationship with them and some start to feel like family to you,” Megan says. “I have had patients that make your day when you get to take care of them, I have even visited them in other units after my shift if I know they are somewhere else in the hospital.”
And sometimes having one person is all you need. When my mom met Megan, she was in the middle of grueling treatment sessions while awaiting her transplant. The pair immediately became friends, chatting about their families and lives beyond the hospital walls. Megan was a light for my mom – someone she looked forward to seeing, the perfect distraction from treatments and testing.
Megan continued to visit my mom in the hospital after she stopped serving as her floor nurse. She even gifted her a homemade, crocheted scarf in her favorite color. Her continuing selflessness and passion for her work were a priceless comfort for my mom during her time in the hospital. Whether it’s your favorite nurse to chat with on the tough days, a handwritten letter from a donor family hanging on the wall, a llama pillow named Alfred, or friends and family to keep you company, there are many ways to make a hospital feel a bit more like home.
Sources: Oxford Dictionary, Pulmonary Fibrosis, Transplant Living, WebMD
Images: Provided by Kerry and Kami Geron, Kami Geron
Featured Image: Provided by Kerry and Kami Geron
