by Zena David
The night my brother, Steve, a long-time resident of a nursing center, was sent to the emergency ward, I expected him to be admitted to the psyche ward of a Chicago hospital. It wouldn't have been the first time. Occasionally, the medication he took to stabilize his schizoaffective behavior didn't hold. Medicare hadn't approved the new medication that might have helped in a timely fashion. He walked the halls, refused to eat, had difficulty urinating, descended into a deep depression and heard voices. This time, he would be a patient on the medical floor until his prerenal azotemia (impending kidney failure) and a blockage in the bladder could be treated surgically. He could not, in this state, enter the psyche ward.
By the time I flew to Chicago from California, I saw my brother pulling out the IV's before being physically restrained. The psyche ward did not have the capability to handle patients with certain medical conditions so even though Steve's doctors tried to get him into the ward, they were unable to do so. Never having been operated on, confused as to what was happening to him, and often being addressed in the third person, my gentle and gentlemanly brother became uncooperative and at times belligerent, ripping off the bandages protecting the fistula. Two operations later, my brother left the hospital having taught the staff that a smile and a kind word are as crucial to the healing process as the medicines that were injected into his veins.
“Whoever survives a test, whatever it may be, must tell a story. That is his {her} duty,” said Nobel Peace Prize winner and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel. My brother, Steve, never won a prize, but he is noble. And his story must be shared. Within his living nightmare, he found his voice sounding it out so that it could make a difference to those who heard him. I wanted him to know what he went through. I wanted him to know how proud I was of him. I wanted him to know what he taught me.
Robert Frost said, “The only way out is in.” Steve orbited in and out of consciousness and sanity and into traumas that frightened me. Then he surfaced to a place where our words could meet and be understood not only by me but also by the medical staff. This is our story. See: Download A Patient Request
My Brother Steve
Author Bio: Zena David, a former public school educator, was awarded several Los Angeles Educational Partnership Grants which enabled her to develop interdisciplinary projects and publish articles about the programs for middle school students. She encouraged her English and drama students to share her philosophy, “love what you do and feel that you matter.” The English Council of Los Angeles honored her for her achievements as outstanding English classroom teacher in 1986. The next year, she received a Global Teaching Award for her children's Museum exhibit and her production of The Diary of Anne Frank led to a correspondence and an invitation to visit Miep Gies at her home in Amsterdam. She became an assistant producer for a Dramalogue award winning theater and an associate director for the UCLA extension musical production about the second half of life. Zena also has also written plays and acted in several small theater as well as community productions. She has facilitated a creative writing workshop in a women's prison. Her most recent speaking engagement was this year at the Yom HaShoah Observance and Photo Exhibition, “Through Your Eyes: Holocaust Memorials Around the World.” As a writer, actress, and director, she is most interested in using the creative arts to integrate issues and heal traumas. Email: Zena
