“What do you need? What can I do?”

When I was a floor nurse, I had a hard time socially in the break room especially. But we were clinically very high functioning, and I’ll never forget the way everyone showed up for each other when we needed a hand.

Whenever you’d pass someone in the corridors who looked harried, if you weren’t on your way to do something time-sensitive, you’d say this — so often it just rolled off the tongue:

“What do you need? What can I do?”

It never felt like a coded way of saying “you clearly can’t handle your task load and need me to rescue you”. It always felt like “from each from their abilities, to each according to their needs”. Or, to reference another past clinical experience, the Catholic Worker Free Clinic mentality: We have skills, we have resources, people need things, we should provide them. We should make ourselves available.

Yesterday I heard a talk by my friend A, who is one of the people I had in mind when I started this blog. She loves a craft and a detailed explanation. She talked about how to be present for people especially those who have a hard time asking for help. And I immediately thought of people asking me in the hospital corridors, what do you need? What can I do?

I also thought of my friend P. Before I moved slightly more east last summer, P was my neighbor. She lived about 45 minutes away, and in the country we sometimes call that a neighbor. When I became disabled, she visited me a few times. She walked in — masked of course — and looked around. “I’m going to scoop the litter, okay? I’m going to take out the trash.” She didn’t wait for me to use the emotional energy to name what I needed. She identified the grossest things that would be the hardest physically for me to do, and announced she would do them — while giving me the option to say no if for some reason I really didn’t want that type of help.

I think about this probably every day. The first time she came over when I was sick, I was so weak that trying to scoop litter led me to collapsing on the floor crying. Her help was so physically and emotionally helpful and healing to me. I think it’s helped me be more able to be helpful to others, in modeling how to be a support. It’s also helped me know what I want and need from friends, and ask for it.

This post is not about crafts. It does serve as a bit more suspense for you the reader before I tell you all my inner thoughts about basting.