Profiles in Being Seen: The Poor Girl

I fell on a treadmill this week. I was on my sixth sprint and my son was on the treadmill next to me, cheering me on.

Suddenly, with the belt still moving, my hand caught at the back of the machine. The only words I could find were.

I need help.

Evan pulled my hand free. There was blood and dirt on my hands and legs.

I resisted going to urgent care, but he and my husband insisted. There, the nurse practitioner kept saying poor girl. I’m so sorry. Poor girl. I bristled because I felt lucky not to have a concussion. I even made a joke that the accident shattered my girlhood dreams of becoming a hand model.

I didn't want to be anybody's poor girl.

But watch what she did with with her kindness. In addition to giving me a tetanus shot, she meticulously took care of all of my injuries. She cut each little piece of gauze and tucked one between every finger so the skin wouldn’t touch. For the smaller cuts she reached for the nonstick gauze instead of a Band-Aid. With older patients, she said, the skin is more sensitive. Older patients. Am I in that category now? One more thing I didn’t want to admit. She wasn’t rushing to her next appointment, and before I left, she told me to see a hand surgeon to make sure it healed right. I thanked her.

A few days later, I understand her (and my family) better than I did in the room. I needed all of what she gave me in her careful attention to my situation. More than I wanted to admit. The words I didn’t like were wrapped around something true. She wasn’t pitying me. She was seeing me.

I write about being seen, and usually I mean someone naming the good in us that we don’t notice in ourselves. This was another kind. She saw a need I was busy waving off, and instead of arguing with me about it, she just turned it into care.

The kindness was right there in front of me in her attention to every detail. It was more significant than I understood in the moment. I almost missed it in my own resistance to being the “poor girl.”

But because seeing is an important part of my work, I stay open to it. I’m so glad I did that and got to see how kind she is.

Kindness is often right in front of us. Sometimes it’s wrapped in words we don’t want to hear, or it shows up when we’re in pain, or in a hurry, or sure we don’t need it.

I came in not wanting to be the poor girl, and I left having been cared for more than I realized. And because of that, I got to see her.

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When has kindness shown up in a way you didn’t quite want — and what did you see when you finally looked?

Lori    

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