When Hope is a Tube of Lipstick

Wednesday, March 10, 2010 9:27 PM, EST

Because of a miscommunication between ENT and Neonatal, MG's bronchoscopy was postponed till tomorrow at 4PM. Anesthesiology came to talk with me today, but it was pretty routine as this is our third time in the OR. We also had a visit from neurology, which emphasized more aggressive PT for her left brachial plexus injury. MG was fussy most of the day because of all the consults she had to have. I spent the afternoon trying to advocate for more consistent nursing care so the PT gets done regularly!

Today is "Wellness Day" at Columbia. A woman who lost a child in the NICU organized a bunch of professionals to volunteer their services offering mini-massages, facials, and manicures to stressed out parents of the children's hospital. It's a pretty nice gift for a pretty ragged crowd that gathers in the family lounge on our floor.

Before this experience, I would have been skeptical of the effects these self-care measures have when dealing with chronic issues. Yet, I have experienced how looking like you feel better helps a little in feeling better if only because it helps others treat you as more than just a patient. I said before that this kind of experience will make you try anything. Before the last bronchoscopy, I went to the pharmacy to buy band-aids and lotion for my hands that crack and bleed from all the sanitizing. I found myself staring in a daze at a make-up display remembering my mother’s advice during my brooding teenage years. “Put on some lipstick, it will make you feel better.” I pulled out the hue that looked most like her favorite, Frosted Apricot. The label read, “Hope.” (Confession: Although I rarely wear them, it’s always been a secret dream of mine to have the job of coming up with lipstick and nail color names). I bought that and a tube of concealing foundation. They have served me well. The foundation has convinced at least 3 separate people that I am “well-rested.” The lipstick, well, it turned out to be more of a neon orange than a frosted apricot, but after that fearful day, I realize Hope is kind of like that…a little too bright to match what else you have going on.

So I am grateful for the woman who every Wednesday revisits the place where her child lived and died to make sure other parents get a small reprieve from the stress or at least, leave looking like they have. This morning, David and I were just talking about how much more we now appreciate the importance of small gestures in communicating the continual presence of grace in our lives. Yours have made all the difference for us.