I was very inspired by the following poem, whether as an individual or as an occupational therapist. How often have we "labeled" people as someone who cannot dress themselves.... someone who require assistance in their activities of daily living, or even someone who requires maids or nurses to feed them? And how often we see them as a mother, as a daughter or as a worker? Of course as an OT, we have taken the roles of our clients into consideration when we plan our treatment goals for our clients/patients. But what about the general public? What did we see when we see someone on a wheelchair? What did we see when we see someone who cannot talk? Do we see someone who cannot walk? Or do we see a mother on a wheelchair with her daughter? Do we see someone who cannot talk; or someone using sign language to talk?
What do we see? LOOK CLOSER .........
LOOK CLOSER
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when looking at me,
A crabbit old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with fair away eyes,
Who dribbles her food, and makes no reply,
When you say in a loud voice: ‘I do wish you’d try’,
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoes,
Who, quite unresisting, lets you do as you will
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill?
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still,
As I move at your bidding, as I eat at your will,
I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another,
A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon a true love she’ll meet;
A bride now at twenty – my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep;
At twenty five now I have young of my own,
Who need me to build a secure, happy home;
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last;
At forty my young sons will soon all be gone,
But my man stays beside me to see I don’t mourn;
At fifty once more babies play round my knee;
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,
I look at the future, I shudder with dread,
For my young are all busy with young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
I’m an old woman now and the nature is cruel,
‘Tis her jest to make old age look a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart,
There now is a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcase a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remembered the joys, I remembered the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years, all too few – gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last,
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabbit old woman, look closer – see ME.
- Anon
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