Trapped In Between. Marilyn Elaine Lundberg Lundberg

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      I still had the laundry list of problems, but at the hospital I was on my feet all day, working hard, getting exercise, and there were fewer moments where I experienced the trapped feelings compared to school.

      I continued working at Swedish hospital for a couple of years, but things were not going as well toward the end. I was moved from the surgery floor to the cancer floor where all the patients came to die. Every day I watched the young and the old get sicker and sicker until they passed away. You couldn’t help but love them, even though we were told to not become attached.

      One day I looked up and down the long hallway where I worked, and could remember the name of a friend or patient in each of the rooms that I had cared for, and later died. I couldn’t do it anymore. Asking an eighteen-year-old to care for hospice patients is demanding and became too much for me. I was required to clean up the deceased bodies before they were sent to the morgue. They were dying every day, and I couldn’t do it anymore.

      I searched the paper for something different, and found a job with a company that hired people for temporary positions. I applied as a secretary and began to make money in that way. I was able to set my own schedule, and accept or reject work when it came my way. I finally felt that I had control in the work place.

      An interesting phenomenon began to happen around this time. I had also experienced it a few times in high school. It sounds strange, but I was sometimes able to sense peoples’ pain. I was a people watcher, guess I have to attribute that to always watching my mom’s scary expressions, but I could sometimes see the pain in peoples’ eyes. They might be smiling, but that was not what their eyes were telling me. I would sometimes say, “Are you okay, you look a little sad” and they would spill their problems to me. I guess I felt safe, or they thought I understood. Sometimes I would know ahead of time what the problems were, so it was a confirmation when I heard the words from their own lips.

      I always wanted to be available to people that were suffering. I wanted to help myself, but I also had a desire to help others at the same time. I wanted to be a compassionate person, maybe there would be something I could do or say to help them. I found out that most of the time I just listened, because that is what they needed most. Helping people, in return, helped me to feel better.

      After I moved out of my parent’s home, I never went to church again. I had been in church my whole life, but now that I was in control of the decisions, I decided to no longer go. I knew about God from Sunday school and sermons at church, but He was a character in the Bible, He was not real to me. I was also upset with Him for allowing me to struggle all these years. I will take that a step further, I was furious at God for ignoring me and allowing me to suffer. I thought, a real God would have helped me, cured me and rescued me from all the pain that I had been drowning in.

      A living God would have given me a beautiful childhood like peers of mine who didn’t seem to have a care in the world. If there even was a God, I felt that He had betrayed me, and turned His back on me. I remember a picture that I had seen of Jesus going after the one lost sheep, and leaving all the others behind. Why hadn’t Jesus come for me? Why had I struggled so much and why was I so sick?

      I was convinced that I was on my own in this world and any healing that was going to happen to me would be of my own making. I needed to read the right books, eat the right food, and someday I would figure out the reason I was peculiar.

      The problems continued to mount. I still had the grade school problems and junior high school problems. Now in high school I added panic attacks, slight anorexia where I ignored body signals of hunger, TMJ and severe monthly pain that put me in bed each month.

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