Compassion

"You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late." 
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

 I am a nurturer and a people pleaser. I suffer from anxiety and I have an impressive collection of phobias. I  often take on more than I can handle for someone with no qualifications. I once considered becoming a nurse until my fear of bodily fluids, needles and illness stopped me. Last February, my Grandmother's cancer returned for the third time, the same Cancer that had already stolen part of her jaw and most of her tongue. I love my Grandmother and knew I wanted to be by her side during the recovery process. I hoped my fears would not cause me to run away from this great-hearted gesture.
Granny is the glue that holds our family together. It shocked me to see my grandmother in such a vulnerable state post-surgery. The first night in the hospital, I pulled the recliner close to her bed and fell asleep. She awoke at 2 am coughing and choking. I attempted to suction mucous from her mouth while she gasped for air like she was suffocating. My eyes pleaded with her to tell me what I should do but she couldn't, so I ran. I ran down the cold hall in my bare feet toward the nurse's station, shouting for help. The nurse ran into Granny's room and removed the inner cannula from her tracheotomy which allowed her to suction massive clots of mucous out of Granny's throat. Noticing that Granny was still struggling to breathe, the nurse pulled the entire trach tube out of her trachea and continued to suction. Finally able to catch her breath, everything her body had been through that day flooded into her and Granny began to sob.
The days were easier, she had trouble with mucous clogging her tracheotomy; however, I quickly learned how to clear it. The day shift nurses were kind and affectionate. With night came the coughing fits; followed by panic attacks and nurses who seemed agitated and annoyed with us.  I am passive but that week I found my voice. I berated nurses who were rough with Granny and I hugged nurses who made her laugh. I walked the halls looking for baby shampoo so I could wash the blood out of her wig. I helped her use the restroom and I sucked mucous out of her airway. The doctor came in on our last day, before discharge,  to swap Granny's trach tube and asked me to help. "No thanks," I replied. The doctor insisted by placing the tube into my hand and guiding it over to Granny's throat. She instructed me to push the tube until I felt a pull and then gently twist the device until it falls into place. "No, I can't do that," I said. "It's very easy," she replied. I considered running away until I saw confidence and reassurance in Granny's eyes. I slid the tube into her trachea until I felt the pull, gently twisted until the tube fell into place, allowing my Grandmother to breathe.
This experience taught me that I am capable of doing hard things and overcoming my fears. Nobility, to me, is putting aside your own needs and fears for someone else and there are no qualifications needed to show kindness or compassion.