How to Give Up a Voice
When the internet became a growing thing in schools, often early adopters would say things like, “Students will have a voice in their schools and communities.” Everyone cheered for the idea. Fast forward to now, and it seems everyone has a voice about something or another these days. It often feels stifling to try and get your voice in at all, much less get it in and have it mean something amongst the noise. Even in areas of faith, “Type Amen,” “Share if you want God to bless you,” “Pass this image without liking, and the devil wins.”, Etc. How do you even feel like God can hear you? I am often reminded, and at times often think like Zacchaeus, needing to climb the sycamore to ensure he could see Jesus amongst the crowds. This is not just something we do in faith, but daily and a lifetime of being under the radar. If you’ve spent a while in the hospital or face chronic illness, you understand what losing your voice is like.
Training to Be Voiceless
Many people have no problem having a booming voice in any situation. From an early age that they have been told they matter and furthermore, their opinion matters. A great example is the that instead of calling Instagram and YouTube stars what they are, pseudo-celebrities, they have been given the title of “Social Media Influencer” because their opinions matter and they get to tell others what to think as well. When the rise of the #MeToo Movement was still in the headlines, I read an article about Time Magazine’s choice to include Taylor Swift on their cover highlighting women that spoke out against sexual misconduct. The writer, also a woman, condemned Swift as not being a good enough woman for the simple fact that Swift had not openly and publicly taken a stand or commented on the current political administration with as many young people that follow her. Personally, I was appalled to think that one woman would belittle another for not doing enough in their eyes and also that Swift possibly had hoped not to alienate fans regardless of her political views. This article stuck with me because it did nothing for my opinion on Taylor Swift, to whom I have little to no opinion on, but did everything on my opinion of myself. This article told me if a personality as big as Taylor Swift can be brought down for either using or not using her voice, what possibility would little me have of having a voice that matters.
Accepting being silenced is something I experienced in all facets of my life. Growing up, I was bullied. Kids found one reason or another to give me crap, I sought help, and it didn’t change. My voice didn’t matter. Being good at something, like art, then getting passed up over and over because a talented arts program required daytime volunteer commitments from two working parents unable to miss work to serve Kool-Aid. My voice didn’t matter. A fifth-grade teacher that told my parents she would refuse to teach me if they didn’t get me on pills because I was an overactive child. My voice was too much to hear (thankfully my parents did not agree, and another teacher, capable of teaching me, took me on). Various romantic relationships where I accepted being talked down to and always giving in as acts of chivalry. My wants did not matter. Parents of women I loved actively plotting the end of our relationship, by forcing their daughter to go on dates with guys they selected, because I wasn’t the person the envisioned the daughter being with. Those same parents eavesdropping on a private conversation between two adults of the age of 21 speaking about waiting until marriage, and then perverting that conversation to mean we were plotting getting pregnant, efficiently forcing their daughter to no longer see me. I didn’t matter.
The point is, this is the kind of conditioning people continuously undergo such treatment, which leads us to believe things about ourselves for the rest of our lives. Before the communication age, when people dealt with these types of problems, they were told to suck it up and get over it. Sadly enough, there are still a lot of people out there that still want everyone to “Man Up!” Let me tell you about a cross-section of Americans that have problems and were just told to “Man Up!”, Combat Veterans. An astonishing 45%-50% of Americas homeless are made up of combat veterans that faced trouble coping with what they have seen and were either driven out of their homes for mental health reasons or turned to drugs as a coping mechanism. We as a society need to reconsider the “Man Up” mentality.
Speaking for Your Health – In the Hospital
Two instances in my life recently where my feelings of being voiceless. Both of these times have culminated in hardship and breaking on my part. I looked upon the precipice of my pain tolerance and mental limit and pushed beyond it. I didn’t go kicking and screaming; I went reluctant and silent. These occurrences brought on life alterations that may have been avoided, if only I had my voice to speak.
In the hospital, with my cancer recurrence, so much trauma happened to my body as well as my psyche that I walked away being classified as having PTSD. The first significant event was placing my Central Venous Catheter. I know I have mentioned this. Nurses spent a good hour and a half to two hours, digging a needle in my chest looking for an artery they could not get to because I was asked to fast and was severely dehydrated. Because the process requires my chest to be as flat as possible my face was turned as far away from the nurses as possible. I hurt, more than I can even recall. So much so that I broke my top left wisdom tooth from clenching my jaw. Every time they would start a nurse again, up to four, would say “Mr. Hernandez, I am (name) I am going to give it a try ok?” All I could ever muster was a nod, and they went to work. You see, I felt that if I had spoken up, the nurse would have been agitated and hurt me more being careless. I also kept hoping it would just end. It wasn’t until the head nurse of the department came to give it a try asked if I was ok with her trying she heard me whimper as I nodded. She asked me to look at her, and I can only imagine what she saw. My face was wet with tears, my mouth had a little blood, and my jaws were beginning to get puffy from clenching. She immediately called for a full stop and ordered everyone out. She returned me to Tara to continue waiting why she set up another appointment with a doctor, placing the CVC with a live X-Ray. That wasn’t much better, I was still not allowed to eat, I waited and finally had the procedure under the machine what would burn my flesh permanently in three spots on my chest. Still there and still itches daily. I got to eat a peanut butter cracker a nurse gave me from her own lunch around 6:30 p.m. waiting to find my infusion room. Arriving at the infusion Tara and I become informed that we would be checking in the hospital for the week, something no one had ever discussed with us. Neither of us could fight it because treatment wouldn’t have started until the doctor was back in the morning. Tara was also trying to speed up my check in so I might get food and drink as well as real rest.
My treatments didn’t go as well as I had hoped either. Hospital policy changes left me retching a good deal of food waiting on medicine or dealing with a migraine waiting on simple Tylenol. The floor LPN deemed my bloodwork not good enough most weeks when the attending physicians I had were satisfied with the same reading. Instead, she was always trying to keep me another day pumping me with gaseous fluids attempting to alkalize my kidneys. This inflation would later lead me to gain an extra 20 pounds, which thankfully I have now lost. Tara would fight with nurses over my need to get out of the room as much as possible; if it weren’t for her voice, I would have just laid there, lifeless and miserable.
My biggest problem with M.D. Anderson now is that I am just a number there. While I receive excellent healthcare medically, there is no personalization in it whatsoever. I have even seen this in my oncologist whom I have once cherished. Therefore, Tara and I scoured the area begging a local oncologist to take my case. Unfortunately, they all gave the same answer. No one in our area is trained to provide the regiment needed to fight my particular cancer, and M.D. Anderson is my only option. Again, what little voice I tried to use, was snuffed out.
Speaking for Your Health – In the Workplace
I realize now I set myself up for failure and abuse when I returned to work after the tumor and lymph node resection. My six weeks of bedrest and recovery was boiled down to two. In the attempt to get back to my students, I began going back daily because my effort to work from home always ended with someone asking if I could come by in person and instead of saying no, I went. So I tried to appear strong and went back to work, getting up at regular intervals to empty my Jackson-Pratt drain of blood from the empty lymphatic area. Why did I do such a thing? Because in my mind, saying, “No I need not work,” was an admittance of being weak and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Little did I know that I was setting myself up for a breaking point.
When I returned, I asked the head boss for help because I did not have the energy to continue to teach as well as take on all of my other responsibilities. I had already been unable to visit both campuses on a regular basis and had someone take over part of my job there. The solution, however, was to see if someone else could take on my class, however that is the part I didn’t want to lose, so my ask had been put off.
As my body became more and more tired, and the lymphedema took firm hold, I began missing work and being late from being unable to use my leg immediately every morning. On top of that, I started having more appointments for physical therapy as well as mental health which was required by my oncologist after my recurrence treatments. Even though I voiced my concerns more, additional task became my responsibility in an effort to alleviate stress from others deemed more necessary to the day today. My performance had dropped, I knew it, and I know it was apparent to some. In my performance review, I relayed to the head boss that my department needed another person to keep going. I admitted to him that I could no longer work as I had before even if I tried. With all I was responsible for, my typical day went something like this. Get up and go to work until 4 pm, go home make dinner and spend time with Tara; once Tara was in bed around 9 pm I would start my computer up and work on various things for work sometimes until 3 am. We agreed that I should not work late from home and do what I can to utilize my time in the office. A promised solution never came.
This year before my departure, still without extra help, more tasks were being asked of me. One department complained because I didn’t make an effort to stay at evening events sometimes until 9:30 pm. I did a few times in hopes of appeasing. Board members saw it fit to add work to my already full load, even going as far as to call me while I was at home, on weekends, and showing up unscheduled in my office. I was expected to drop everything for them. Projects I had done in the past that I enjoyed were either needing outsourcing or put on the back burner.
Eventually, I could no longer keep up. My inability to focus all my energy on other departments’ projects was not met with understanding. Instead, it was met with bullying from adults, claiming to be professionals. Whining to clients, other bosses and messaging whole groups via text on weekends to complain about what they perceived as my “unwillingness to help.” Board members approached me when out with Tara asking for this and that, and I sat there and took it all. My only ally was my immediate supervisor who had also asked for another department member, attempted to quell the others, and stood up for me when I was attacked. Everyone who could have helped alleviate any of the wrongs was silent.
With the stressors reaching a new ceiling, I broke just before Thanksgiving while at M.D. Anderson being physically hurt which resulted in a full-blown and very public panic attack. After pleading to go home, they agreed on the condition I do not return to work until after the Thanksgiving holiday, basically a week and a half. My grandfather passed away that Thanksgiving Day. At his funeral, I prayed for his council, and I felt, spoken in my heart, that I needed to take full disability. My only act of using my voice was to say goodbye to those I loved dearly I worked with, to tell students I had mentored that all would be well.
My Voice Now
So where does this leave me? The ability to use my voice in profound ways. I want to develop a website where I can be a voice for good; I, however, have not done this because it will cost some funds and as usual I doubt anyone cares about my voice.
If I am capable, I want to voice to the hospital that I am as much in need of empathetic care as I am medical. I am allowing you to do things to my body, at least listen to my concerns and what I know about my own body before we go forward. Doctors wanting their patients to keep fighting should make them feel like their fight matters to you and your staff.
To the school, I want to say to those who hurt me and pushed me out; I forgive you even though I am still angry. Try to do better, try to be better examples of what the students hope adult life can be. Too often I have heard, “I thought it got better once you were older? What’s the point then?” Regardless of how you try to hide it, they all see it. Don’t perpetuate the cycle of hurt, creating more adult bullies and thus creating more hate and pain. I felt voiceless because I was not treated as an equal. Especially to the older crowd, I was never given your respect because you only saw me as some kid. You asked why some of the students didn’t respect me? Well, the answer is you never showed them that they should. It was not because I tried to show kindness to them, to relate to them and make them comfortable coming to those they should when things were dire.
To those I care for and left behind, I am sorry I left you. Know that you have been part of my survival and I can not thank you enough for that. I want to visit you, but there is some difficulty disassociating and facing those who hurt me with calm. To the students still there, as well as those from the previous year. I am sorry I had to let you down. I am sorry that I was unable to finish the projects important to you because I was not able to make them a priority. They were important to me because every one of you has been important to me.
Before anyone responds, especially if this finds its way to those that hurt me, do not attempt to rationalize or explain your actions. You do not get to decide how someone feels about your efforts. Make it a priority to take what I have said here and use your voice. Use it for yourself. Many of us, myself included have no problem standing up for others, but when it comes to ourselves, we fail, expecting someone like us to come to our rescue. Don’t lose your voice in anything you do.
