For several years after my life-threatening flare up of Ulcerative Colitis in 2010, I couldn’t pass by the hospital where I spent a large chunk of that year without experiencing a borderline panic attack. To me, that place represented all of the pain and trauma of that time in my life, and I prayed to God that I would never, ever have to go there again.
As time went by, I began treading lightly down the path of emotional healing much in thanks to regular sessions with my wonderful therapist. As I started to feel more and more like I was standing on solid ground, I noticed that passing by the hospital became less and less scary.
Then something strange and unexpected started happening. Slowly that big, intimidating, trauma packed building began to call to me. Odd as it may sound, I could feel it gently beckoning me, as if it were really important that I return, not as a patient this time, but as a survivor.
So I did. But I could only bring myself to go so far as the public outdoor space just outside of the main entrance, the area aptly named, “The Healing Garden.” That day I sat alone on a bench in the middle of the garden amongst the herbs and flowers just long enough to feel the raw pain of the past bubble up to the surface. Then I left.
But I kept coming back. And I started to let myself remember - the bad memories of horrendous night after night I spent there suffering alone, the fear of never leaving that place alive, the pain of being without my baby girl for so long, the hopelessness and helplessness. I thought about everything including the most traumatic moments that I hadn’t let myself think about in years. I prayed and I cursed and I cried. And something began to change.
As I processed through those memories and emotions I felt less and less fear and pain when I looked up at the building behind me. This became more true each time I visited the Healing Garden, which for a season, was often. Strangely, each visit somehow started to feel like I was coming to see an old friend.
It was in the garden that I began to realize that my time spent there as a patient had had meaning. Those days were no longer just reduced to being written off as the worst days of my life; I came to understand that they were the most important days of my life. Those days, though it didn’t feel like it at the time, would ultimately inspire me to continuously strive to be a better mother, a better partner, a better person. Those days and nights made me who I am today and continue to remind me of who I want to be tomorrow.
Eventually, I could go inside the lobby and sit for a while. Then I’d walk past the infusion center where I spent many hours receiving intravenous immune suppressing drugs. I’d walk past the chapel where on one particularly bad night, my parents went to pray that I would live. I’d sit by the hospital entrance and watch the new mothers leaving with their newborns and remember the day when I left there with my own newborn, over a year before I started getting sick. And in all of these places I no longer felt fear or pain; I could feel nothing but gratitude.
It’s been well over a year now since I’ve been to the Healing Garden. I had wanted to go in the spring when I have a personal celebration of my survival every year, but due to the pandemic I obviously had to stay away. But the truth is, when it comes to that period of my life, so much healing has happened that I just don’t need to go there so much anymore.
And that is one more thing to be grateful for.
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