Several Worlds Apart

On Monday I took a little trip to the emergency room at our local women's hospital after having a severe cramp in my leg. Long story short, it was a wasted visit, everything was fine, although it gave me peace of mind. While I walked out of the hospital no longer worried about a blood clot, a new concern was weighing heavy on my heart. In the emergency room, just a thin curtain separated me from the woman in the next bed. All I saw of her when I passed her was her green striped pajama pants. I can't tell you her race, her hair color...for all I know she could have been my doppelgänger. As I lay in the bed waiting to be examined, it was impossible not to hear the conversation between the doctor and the woman in the green pjs. The woman was pregnant, due with her second chid on October 24, so around 36 weeks pregnant. She came in because she had an infected pimple in her ear that was causing her pain. Ok...no big deal. However, it was what came next that rattled me. Since she was there anyways, she decided it was a good time to try to get clean. She was hoping to start a methadone conversion. She was a drug addict.

As I listened to her I was in total disbelief. She told the doctor she was using 10 bags of heroin a day. In addition, she was taking around 10 benzos a day. The doctor asked her if she used cocaine or marijuana. The woman laughed and said "Can you believe I don't like weed?"

At this point I was fuming. My blood was boiling. I wanted to reach through the sheet and slap this woman. How was she laughing? How dare she do this to the little, defenseless baby in her very own body.

As far as cocaine? The woman said she no longer did coke and it wouldn't be in her system. When the doctor pried further and asked when the last she used it was, the woman told her Saturday. SATURDAY! That was just two days earlier! How could she say she didn't use anymore!

I lay there, repeating to myself that I needed to mind my own business.

Next I started crying. The woman told the doctor the baby's father was still involved in her life. In fact, he was the one who supplied her the drugs. She lived with her mother, who helped her take care of her two-year-old. She worked as a prostitute for a while. She has hepatitis C but hasn't seen a doctor for it in years. In the very beginning of her pregnancy she saw an OB, but it had been more than 20 weeks since she had seen one.

How is any of this possible? How? I saw a doctor almost every week of my pregnancy because of something that I had less than a 3% chance of happening. I resisted using Tylenol several times when I felt I needed it because I wanted to limit what I put in my body.

Here I was in a bed right next to her in the same emergency room in the same hospital, and yet I felt like we were from two different universes. We were both carrying a new little life inside of us, and yet I couldn't relate to her at all.

I had started angry, been resolved to tears, and ended in prayer. I laid in my bed praying for her, praying for her baby and praying for her little son at home. I prayed she would find the strength to get clean. I prayed her baby would be healthy. I prayed her son was safe.

I also prayed for myself, though. I asked God to help me not to judge and to find understanding when understanding seemed so far beyond my reach. At the end of the day, the reality is there is no amount of judgement I could pass on that woman that could change her. I have lived a life of privilege. My version of struggle in my 35 years would be a walk in paradise for a lot of people.

I am not so naive that I don't know this. It is not my place to judge her. It isn't what God wants us to do, and it won't make me a better person or set a good example for my children. Rather I will continue to pray for her and I ask all of you to do the same.