We've all heard the quote, 'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.' My husband and son died within two years of each other. From my personal experience, I believe that if we aren't careful, grief can become a rather self-involved process in which we can become so focused on our own suffering that we miss the opportunity to connect with, and possibly bring comfort to, someone else who may be going through a similar experience.  Six months after my husband died, I was sinking in the quicksand of grief. I could not pull myself out of the misery. In that moment, I actually believed that my life was more difficult than anyone else around me. Life handed me a perfectly wrapped lesson that opened my eyes to the fact that through my suffering I had allowed myself to become blinded by my self-pity. The lesson presented itself in a health crisis. I had complications   from a surgical procedure and ended up being hospitalized for four days. I was in an extreme amount of pain during this time. Between the physical pain and the emotional pain of grief, I was an   mess. I should also tell you that I am a Registered Nurse. As a nurse, it is hard to be on the receiving end of medicine as the patient. The first three nights that I was in the hospital, the same nurse took care of me. She was young, maybe in her mid to late 20s, and she hardly interacted with me at all the first two nights, other than to give my medications as scheduled. She obviously had no idea how much emotional pain I was in. How hard is it to ask your patient how she's feeling? I wrote her off as a bad nurse who had little sympathy, and remained absorbed in my own emotional and physical pain. The third night the young nurse was a little more talkative. She asked me how I was feeling (finally!). I told her that I was struggling with depression and grief because my husband had died in an airplane accident. She looked at me and told me that her husband had died too, just two months earlier. I was stunned. Speechless. Shocked. Never, in any of the possibilities that my mind entertained of why this nurse was so unfriendly to me, did I even consider that she might be in the same pain I was. Not only was she grieving as I was, but she was having to take care of me, instead of caring for herself and her family. We went on to talk and share our stories about our late husbands and children. I like to think that we helped each other a bit that night. We had much more in common than I would have believed. We were both widowed single moms with young children, and nurses. But, that was where the similarities ended. Her husband had no insurance policy. She had very little family support. She was working paycheck to paycheck to support her boys. I was humbled. I realized how much I had to be grateful for. And, frankly, I never saw life the same way after this experience. This experience was a life-changing event for me. I had always prided myself on being a sympathetic person, but I realize now that I had not really understood what being sympathetic meant. To truly be sympathetic, you must be able to see beyond your own pain to be witness to the pain. I never looked at another person in the same way after this experience. I thank death for very few things. The gift of sympathy for my fellow man, and understanding that we all suffer in ways that aren't always visible, are presents from death that I will always be grateful for. Always take the time to be kind even when you're suffering with your own pain. And don't assume that someone else has it easier than you. You never know the battles someone else is fighting. Why did the author regard the nurse as a bad one at first?
The nurse treated her abruptly. The nurse didn't offer medications on time. The nurse seldom communicated with her. The nurse was irresponsible.
Question: We've all heard the quote, 'Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.' My husband and son died within two years of each other. From my personal experience, I believe that if we aren't careful, grief can become a rather self-involved process in which we can become so focused on our own suffering that we miss the opportunity to connect with, and possibly bring comfort to, someone else who may be going through a similar experience.  Six months after my husband died, I was sinking in the quicksand of grief. I could not pull myself out of the misery. In that moment, I actually believed that my life was more difficult than anyone else around me. Life handed me a perfectly wrapped lesson that opened my eyes to the fact that through my suffering I had allowed myself to become blinded by my self-pity. The lesson presented itself in a health crisis. I had complications   from a surgical procedure and ended up being hospitalized for four days. I was in an extreme amount of pain during this time. Between the physical pain and the emotional pain of grief, I was an   mess. I should also tell you that I am a Registered Nurse. As a nurse, it is hard to be on the receiving end of medicine as the patient. The first three nights that I was in the hospital, the same nurse took care of me. She was young, maybe in her mid to late 20s, and she hardly interacted with me at all the first two nights, other than to give my medications as scheduled. She obviously had no idea how much emotional pain I was in. How hard is it to ask your patient how she's feeling? I wrote her off as a bad nurse who had little sympathy, and remained absorbed in my own emotional and physical pain. The third night the young nurse was a little more talkative. She asked me how I was feeling (finally!). I told her that I was struggling with depression and grief because my husband had died in an airplane accident. She looked at me and told me that her husband had died too, just two months earlier. I was stunned. Speechless. Shocked. Never, in any of the possibilities that my mind entertained of why this nurse was so unfriendly to me, did I even consider that she might be in the same pain I was. Not only was she grieving as I was, but she was having to take care of me, instead of caring for herself and her family. We went on to talk and share our stories about our late husbands and children. I like to think that we helped each other a bit that night. We had much more in common than I would have believed. We were both widowed single moms with young children, and nurses. But, that was where the similarities ended. Her husband had no insurance policy. She had very little family support. She was working paycheck to paycheck to support her boys. I was humbled. I realized how much I had to be grateful for. And, frankly, I never saw life the same way after this experience. This experience was a life-changing event for me. I had always prided myself on being a sympathetic person, but I realize now that I had not really understood what being sympathetic meant. To truly be sympathetic, you must be able to see beyond your own pain to be witness to the pain. I never looked at another person in the same way after this experience. I thank death for very few things. The gift of sympathy for my fellow man, and understanding that we all suffer in ways that aren't always visible, are presents from death that I will always be grateful for. Always take the time to be kind even when you're suffering with your own pain. And don't assume that someone else has it easier than you. You never know the battles someone else is fighting. Why did the author regard the nurse as a bad one at first?
A. The nurse treated her abruptly.
B. The nurse didn't offer medications on time.
C. The nurse seldom communicated with her.
D. The nurse was irresponsible.
Answer: