The other night I was working my last night shift of my little four day
stretch in D Ward. It was a little after 2am and the majority of patients
were sleeping soundly, a couple still a bit restless trying to find a
comfortable position in such an unfamiliar environment. The humming of
the generators mixed with the old man snoring that snuck out of the 16 year old
boy filled the air and provided the white noise some require to get a good night’s
rest. My work was all caught up - charts were checked, medications were
given, my patients were comfortable.
As I sat down in the chair beside one of the day workers/translators,
I noticed him eyeing my kindle fire I had placed on the desk. I
had taken it out of my bag just minutes before as I was looking forward to
reading a few pages of Jodi Picoult's,
Lone Wolf, while the early
morning crept by. Before I could get engrossed in the story, however, I
was asked, "Hey Karyn, is that a tablet?" "Sure is, it's a
kindle fire - sort of like an ipad, but it was a little smaller and a lot
cheaper. I bought it a little over a year ago and said it was a birthday/Christmas
present for myself." He let out a little chuckle, recognizing my
feeble attempts at justifying my purchase. We chatted a little bit about
some of the features - some of the books I had downloaded, games I could play,
movies I could watch, internet I had access to. He agreed that it was
definitely a luxury to have, and especially convenient while living on a
ship. He looked up and said, "How much was it?" I told
him, without really blinking - because remember, it was
cheaper than the
ipad. It was his reaction, however, that got me. I tried to tell myself that everything is relative and dependent on
circumstances...it is, isn't it? Of course I wasn't bragging to him or flaunting my fancy piece of
technology, but I still suddenly felt uncomfortable. I was embarrassed.
Was I embarrassed that I paid so much on a material purchase? Was I
embarrassed that I had the money to buy it without much debate? But I had
a job that paid well enough so I could buy such a "toy," should I
feel bad about spending my earned money? Was it wrong to have a sense of
joy in material things such as my kindle? I couldn't quite figure out
what it was exactly that shook me, but I definitely wasn't a fan of the way I
was feeling. I was conveniently called to one of my patients' bedsides
just before I had to continue to fill the air with conversation. The
morning swept over us and before I knew it the shift was over, no more talk of
the kindle.
I made my way to bed but was a bit disappointed when I realized I still had
that nagging uneasy feeling. I decided to chalk it up to my night shift
delirium and thought a little shut eye would be the cure. Much to my
dismay, I woke up just the same. Once I navigated through my initial
blurry/unorganized/just woke up state of mind, I did a little soul searching
and had a bit of an ah-ha moment.
One of the surgeons that was volunteering on the ship a couple months back
did a few talks on a variety of subjects. One of the discussions was
about our $1 joys. It's only human to remember, fantasize about, and look
forward to the great joys of life. You know them well - the new jobs,
milestone birthdays, graduations, weddings, new purchases. All of these
are, undoubtedly exciting times in our lives, deserving of special places
in our hearts and minds. But what about our $1 joys? What about the
so-called everyday happenings that bring smiles to our faces or generate a
belly laugh?
As I sat there evaluating and judging myself, I decided it was a good time
to think about a few of my $1 joys...
The luxury of walking about 100 steps to a dining room where food is being
served every day - food that I don't have to cook.
The girlish giggle from an unexpected tickle I gave to a little boy who had
his jaw wired shut for months but who now can't seem to keep it shut.
The picture my sister sent of my nephews - I had fallen asleep as it was
downloading (the joys of ship internet speed) and woke up to check the time on
my phone but was instead greeted with their beautiful faces.
Scrolling through my music and being able to sing along word for word to a
song I haven't heard in years.
Chowing down on Chocolate Teddy Grahams that were sent from home - and
proudly sharing their goodness with my friends.
The high five I so excitedly did after the patient gave me a finger wag to
tell me she had no pain (the first time in days).
The patient, with her face morphed into something that can't be explained,
pretending to pluck my nose off my face and place it on hers and then joyfully
holding up two fingers to signify the fact that she's going back to the OR in
two days for yet another surgery to help reconstruct her face.
Relishing in the sound of a freshly opened can of Coke - it truly is
delightful.
I realized I was embarrassed, not because of the kindle or the money I was
able to use to buy it, but because I was using it as a source of my joy.
I had forgotten to appreciate the everyday blessings. The ones that often
seem so mundane but are actually the fuel that gets us through the day.
Let me never forget the true value of my $1 joys.
