The blue gown blues

CKHA or Chatham-Kent Health Alliance is a very well oiled machine. At 7:15 a.m., I went through its revolving doors, glanced at the instructions in my hand and proceeded up the stairs, turning right at the Endoscopy sign and stood in front of the registration desk.

“Health card?”, the tired looking woman on the other side of the glass, asked. She obviously wasn’t a lark, either. I slid it under the glass partition.

“You’ve had nothing to eat or drink?”

“No”, I responded

Handing the card back to me, she said, “Down the hall to the right. Someone will meet you there.” And true to her word, a nurse met me, handed me a bundle of blue cotton, then pointed to the cubicle and gave instructions to strip down.

“Here’s the lockers. Put all your belongings in this bag”, she said “and when you’re ready, pin the locker key to your gown. No jewelry, no piercings. You haven’t eaten anything, have you? Put the first gown on like a bib, tied at the back. The second one goes over your shoulders, like a cape.”

Is there anything that has the power to level all of humanity as much as the ubiquitous blue hospital gown? Once you’ve donned that gown, and slid your feet into the disposable paper slippers, it matters not if you’re the CEO of a Fortune 500 company or the pimply teenager handing you your morning Starbucks.

All are reduced to a quivering mass of vulnerability.

I shuffled over to the assigned bed, clutching the back of my robe and moments later, the IV was hooked up. The thin blanket did little to alleviate the chill seeping into my bones. Brrr…my surgery wasn’t for another hour.

Cue: Jon Wood, volunteer

Volunteer? What? At this hour?

“How are you?” I asked Jon.

“Amazing”, was his quick reply. “You look cold- let me see about getting you a warm blanket. You’re really not supposed to have two but I’ll see what I can do,” he said, giving me a conspiratorial wink. A few moments later, he was back and as he carefully tucked the flannel blanket over my shoulders and under my chin, I finally relaxed under its exquisite warmth.

“You’re amazing”, I said to Jon.

“I told you!” he chuckled. “And don’t you worry. I’ve had many colonoscopies- the worst part is over now.” He also told me that about 20 patients a day are moved through that room- blue-gowned bodies stretched out on beds, nameless except for their paper wristband. Nervous, anxious, defenseless.

But for Jon, these bodies are people made in God’s image. That’s why for the last 22 years, this elderly gentleman has been chit-chatting and tucking us in, his easy-going manner and winsome smile putting us at ease.

Making us feel loved...cared for…human.

As Andy Stanley once said, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”