I was on my way back up to my Dad's room after taking a break in the Tim Hortons located in virtually every hospital of size in Canada, just standing waiting for the elevator. The big double doors near the elevator bank opened and surgical staff were pushing through a bed, a BIG bed, and commandeered the elevator for the patient going to ICU. About 12 people, including myself, stepped aside to wait: like you would. There, in the bed, was a SMO (super morbidly obese) man, who was conscious and looked petrified. As they wheeled the bed around and pushed it through the doors of the elevator, the damned thing got stuck. The bed was so wide the side rails of the bed needed to be down in order for it to have enough clearance to fit, and they had forgotten to lower the sides. People gawked, averted their eyes, shook their heads. This poor man, who's feet sticking out from the sheets were dark purple and mottled, his chin positioned in the air by a pillow wedge to improve his breathing from the excess weight around his throat and neck, his stomach rocking back and forth with every jarring move in an attempt to extricate the bed from the doorway, I felt for him. His expression had changed from petrified to mortified. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He was so embarrassed.
It dawned on me, just a few years ago I was not far off from this man's plight. I WAS the SMO person on a hospital bed being wheeled down a hallway to be gawked at. While I didn't need the wide bed, I wasn't far off as the sides of the bed did touch my hips, as I recall. I remember the groans of the staff as they had to work in teams to roll me from side to side to change surgical pads underneath me. I remember how difficult it was for them to place a bedpan under me, and then retrieve it. I remember being mortified.
That was the moment reality chose to smack me upside the head. That was no longer me. I had taken the steps to lose the weight, I had 2 new knees as a result of regaining my mobility, I could walk for miles, I was healthy.
I turned to the door leading to the stairwell, relieving this man from at least one set of prying eyes, and ran up the six floors to my Father's ward.