By Julie Patrick

Have you ever been in a room crowded with people and still felt lonely? The truth is, you can feel lonely anywhere, anytime. I felt just like that this week at South Georgia Medical Center.

My Dad had to go to the Emergency Room early Monday morning. He ended up having a lengthy stay this week. He’s still in the hospital and receiving excellent care, but I’m ready to bust him out! It’s hard to describe my loneliness at the hospital, but  it’s like standing in the middle of a bustling city, watching people rush by without feeling like you’re even remotely connected to them. No, it’s not the same as being alone; being alone is more a state of physical being than it is a state of soul and emotion. I was surrounded by all these nurses, doctors and so many people who never seem to truly understand you and who seem like will never understand the fears and deepest thoughts that is tugging at your heart. It’s not that they don’t care about me or truly try to help me, it’s simply that feeling that they will never understand me , no matter how much you explain. I felt like I was literally watching the world go by, not part of anything in particular.

The nurses and staff reminded me of a school of fish all color coded that seemed to be in rhythm with the other. They darted in and out, just like synchronized swimmers and occasionally drifted apart to preform on their own. They seemed to flock together with their similar scrubs of color,  even at lunch or break intervals. It was truly amazing to watch the teams and I wished I had a group to call my own.

I noticed a young man several times in the hospital lobby. I always saw him curled up in a hidden corner asleep somewhere. He carried only a small backpack for a pillow. He was skinny and childlike. I couldn’t tell if he was there for someone or perhaps homeless seeking shelter and a quick nap in safety.

After having a “lonesome”  lunch in the cafeteria I found myself not very hungry. I boxed up my uneaten sandwich intending to have it later in my Dads room.  I passed the boy again on my way back. I stopped and turned around with a sudden urge to give him my leftovers. I knelled down and tapped him on his shoulder. I asked if he would like to have the rest of my sandwich. His eyes were large and afraid but took my offering. He thanked me and said he was very hungry and started eating the Philly Cheesesteak.
Later that evening, I stopped at a vending machine to get a drink. I bought a coke and an orange soda. I looked for my little friend. He was in the same spot only awake with his head resting on his knees. I didn’t say a word, just handed him the orange one. He smiled up at me.

I’ve been on the “other side of the bed-rail,” so to speak, several times in the last several years with my Dad. This was the first time I have ever met someone who felt lonely just like me in a hospital. I hope he is okay, and I hope someone else will treat him with kindness. But most of all, I hope he doesn’t feel lonely anymore.