[Downsizing Zeal] Keeping Souvenir Glasses

After hours of debate over keeping the souvenir glass of the hospital where I had surgery to relieve the pressure on my spine, I favored materialism. I do not have a positive surgical experience. The item, instead, functionally reminds me of a transcendent experience. After waking up from anesthesia, I was trapped; my body was numb, like the music video for “One.” This glass, in a sense, should remind me of my realization of absurdism.

Stuck there, I felt isolated and alone.

No one was willing to believe that my body had become numb and I couldn’t move my fingers. It wasn’t until I had to get a catheter inserted up my penis to relieve two liters of urine from my bladder that I started being able to move around. My theory is that I could have been allergic to some of the anesthesia chemicals which caused my body to be numb for nearly twelve hours. Twelve hours of hostility from hospital staff, who thought I was faking it or otherwise acting childishly, forced me to consider life from its most basic perspective.

I hated life and I hated the situation I was forced into.

What that experience forced me to do was confront the inner conflict that I’ve had for years now. I feel like I’ve had a thin skin and I couldn’t figure out why. Well, the answer is simple: I respected people too much. I placed misguided respect in the doctors and medical professionals that would be acting, rather than respecting the actions that other nurses throughout this process did to help me out. Respect is earned, not given by rank or money. I’ve had thin skin because I respected people incorrectly. Through those twelve hours not even being able to move my fingers, where thinking through the process would lead to headaches, I had to confront the visceral realization that I am truly alone in this world.

Who will care to help me?

No one did at my most vulnerable moment, so why should I care to help out others? That doesn’t mean that I’m going to become some terrible asshole. Rather, my expectations of others will be firmly based on proven behaviors. For someone like my spine doctor, who disrespected me when my body was numb post-surgery, I will not forgive him. He does not deserve my respect. Why should I let this person into my mind palace who will not help me when I need it? People like this can hang out in the infinite bullshit that exists outside of that sacred space. I may need to work with him in two weeks to see how my health is going, but he will know that I don’t respect him, and if that means I live a more decisive life, then that is the life I need to live.

I have no time or tolerance for people like that.

Being called a hypochondriac, being yelled at, and being disregarded in front of professionals is not the behavior of someone I will ever respect again. It’s unfortunate, too, because we often do need to see how people act in vulnerable moments before we can judge them in their totalities, but I think a weak-skinned person would be more likely to forgive and forget such transgressions. I realized this while I was trapped in my own body, unable to move or defend myself, so owning something – even temporarily – is a good way for me to remember this decisiveness.

I will still keep letting people live their lives around me.

What I mean by that is that I’ll still befriend new people and I can extend minor bits of trust or even financial respect toward others. But it’s up to them to rise to these occasions. I give only that which I am not concerned with giving up. If I want to commission an artist to draw something, there is the risk that the artist will never go through drawing that thing, so if they don’t seem motivated, why bother stirring them to action? If I pay half and they bounce, why worry about that money – other than exposing that theft for what it is?

If a doctor refuses to help a patient in his most vulnerable moment, who is this doctor?

No one I respect would leave me vulnerable. This souvenir glass should, if not for its functionality as a large water container, remind me and me alone of this realization. I might find myself drinking from this glass in some months or years, remember being numb and helpless, and ask myself: would this person help me through this situation? If not, they are not worth being vulnerable around. They are not worth anything more than a functional transaction. I will ask this spine doctor for advice but if he has any additional suggestions that don’t make sense to me, then I will have to decline, and instead go on to find another doctor.

Even if, in his moment of vulnerability, he lashed out at me, that’s not acting in good faith.

After he did what he could to figure out what was wrong, and deciding it wasn’t his problem, he – like the first pain doctor, and all the other doctors I’ve interacted through both parts of Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] decided that it wasn’t his problem. Even though he told me he prayed for me later on in the comfort of his own home, I, instead, was trapped in some hospital bed wondering if I could even ever move again. Would my entire body be paralyzed? His tests decided it wasn’t his responsibility, so he left. Why would he be concerned about me in the future? So this souvenir glass was my experience and survival of such behavior, and when it’s its time to be recycled, well, I’ll have this essay and my memories to remind me of misplaced respect, and I’ll discard it freely.

Souvenirs usually represent positive moments; what about transcendent moments?

Endtable
Quotes: None.
Sources: My personal experiences.
Inspirations: While we normally think of souvenirs in the way that Mitch Hedberg set up his joke, sometimes, there are souvenirs that teach us about our own values and survival.
Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays. Sober Living essays and Tripping On [The American Healthcare System] chapters.
Photo: The view from my hospital bed.
Written On: 2020 September 01 [6:15pm to 6:48pm]
Last Edited: 2020 September 01 [First draft; final draft for the Internet.]

 

My big goal is writing. My most important goal is writing "The Story." All other goals should work toward that central goal. My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame some fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. I'm not better than you and you're not better than me. Let's strive to be better every day.