Pebble in a Tin Can

View from Patient's Room, a photo by []Aaroneous Monk[] on Flickr.

a tin can came rolling across the road
blown by the wind
causing me to swerve to avoid crushing it
on the way home from the hospital
it got me thinking about the patient I’d just seen
blown into my path as it were
by way of a psychiatric consult
she was in her mid-twenties
admitted for a large abscess on her arm
from shooting heroin
she was showing signs of premature aging
after years of use
she assured me she was a hopeless case
multiple rehab failures
never able to finish a program
before being kicked out
she was abrasive and sarcastic
quick to pounce
on any stutter or redundant question with ridicule
I felt the stings
but left them unattended
not allowing irritation to enter my voice
I would not be like most everyone else
caught up in her anger, frustration, and impotence
I was there to help if I could
my lack of reacting in kind wore her down
useful information began to trickle out
her first memory of childhood – being raped
chronic insomnia, nightmares, flashbacks from smells
using drugs to self-medicate
when outpatient treatment was scarce between rehabs
subtle signs of warmth began to escape from her
at unexpected times
she and I not so very different
hope and love still in there echoing about
maybe even a bit of faith rattling around
like a pebble in a tin can