I used to find it rather easy to write
while I was inpatient. These days, not so much. My words seem to
escape me, and I am rather shy in regards to my own feelings. Perhaps
that is because every two seconds someone bursts through my door
asking how I am feeling, or to have a peek at parts of my body in
which it's not natural to show to a room inundated with strangers. Over the years, this can certainly take its toll on a person (I would know!). Sure they have doctors' badges on, but aside from that, they are
merely strangers. I do not know them in a personal manner...and
outside of the hospital I would never pull down my pants for someone
I just met. It would be absolutely...ludicrous of me to do so. Yet,
some man or women has doctor identification on and I just allow him
to see all of my private parts as though there is nothing amoral
about it? In regards to medical purposes, I do not find it amoral.
Yet, as a young woman, I find it somewhat emotionally violating as I
grow older. I have never given the doctors problems as far as seeing
my wound areas and other private parts of my body, nor have I ever
been that uncomfortable with it to the point I would not allow it.
Yet, it contradicts who I am outside of the hospital so greatly. I
would never slip down my panties for a stranger I just met while
outpatient, yet I am all too willing to do so while inpatient. The
things we do in the name of medicine... ; ) It is, to me anyway,
quite bizarre to ponder.
I think between feeling vulnerable in
that manner and in terms of my other emotions, I cherish and consider sacred what I am
able to keep inside. What I choose not to reveal almost becomes a
weapon of sorts, one in which to fight all the vulnerability I am
exposed to on a constant basis. While inpatient, privacy becomes sort
of a rare delicacy...
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