Question

What situation give you the creeps?

Answer 1

I’d like to think I’m pretty tolerable of most things in life (i.e. people who have set stupefying records for spelling homonyms wrong, customers who rudely talk on their phone as they order their dinner, and my parents who make love look easy… despite the fact that it’s not).

But like most everyone, I am human. There are three places that I avoid at all costs: hospitals, nursing homes, and funerals. Here’s why:

Going to the Hospital

I consider myself a seasoned patient, as I’ve endured four surgeries during my lifetime. I’ll admit that I’m extremely fortunate to not have undergone any life-threatening operations, but rather just minor procedures. You’d think by now that I would have gotten used to the unavoidable sterile hospital walls that have confined me for so many hours at a time. Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

Every time I enter a hospital (or even a clinic), my knees become weak. I hold my breath, trying to avoid breathing in the diseases that (in my imagination) cloud the air. My vision blurs, thinking back to the anesthesia that has paralyzed my body many times before.

Too much is left to the unknown in a hospital. I feel cheated… like the time my parents reassured me there would be no more needles for the day. Just as suddenly as they had spoken, the nurses swept me off my five-year-old feet to pump more blood from my frail body. Numerous pricks and pints of blood later, they were finally able to reassure my parents that it was, in fact, kidney stones.

Often, we are told that our beloved will be “just fine”—that their pneumonia will be cured within days or the nausea they’re experiencing is just a common case of the flu. Until it isn’t. Many times, we are filled full of hope, only to be devastated with the end result. The doctors and nurses that I respect so much hold the fate of so many lives. Too many lives. No one should be burdened with that much responsibility.

That is the terror that rips through my body every time I step foot into a hospital.

Visiting Nursing Homes

I want to like nursing homes. It seems most of my friends do. Many of my peers in high school took up well-paid, part-time jobs as certified nursing assistants (CNA). The only exposure I ever had to nursing homes was the infamous visits for Sunday school. During the holiday season, we would visit local nursing homes to sing Christmas carols and pass out hand-written cards.

The cause was fantastic. There were so many elderly men and women whose faces lit up when we walked in the door. Who knows, we could have been the highlight of their week… of the month! But something about the smell of a nursing home always throws my body into defense mode.

Most often, the people—who are, in their defense, most likely wonderful—are all too grabby. I’m usually a lovey, you-can-hug-me kind of person… but in nursing homes, you’d think I was participating in a Olympic game of tag, always bobbing and weaving to miss the hands that reach out to touch me.

The lovely people in nursing homes aren’t scary… but for some reason their hands are. It’s as if their bodies are content in a wheelchair or lying on their bed, but their souls are trying to escape. Their hands are trying to latch onto someone or something that will free them from the prison-like walls that confine them. #Run

Attending Funerals

I can’t exactly think of one good reason to enjoy funerals. I imagine most people are on board with me for this one. I have yet to meet someone who will volunteer to attend one—just for fun. Overall, I think it is the whole concept that strikes me as odd. We are quick to judge Asian countries for bellying up to the dinner table to consume their pet as dinner, but have no problem taking a dead body, dressing them up, kissing them with cold, yellow skin, and placing them in a deep hole in the ground to come “talk to” whenever we have free time.

Please, I’m not trying to be insensitive. I’ve lost many that I love… but can’t you admit that the whole concept is a little weird?

During each funeral, I always begin to wonder if I’ll ever be able to eat again. After witnessing some of the strongest people in my life melt into a puddle of tears, I’m easily convinced I don’t deserve to eat. I don’t deserve to do anything until these people feel better. Until their grief is settled and they can survive one day without tears.

It’s almost sick to me that we eat—that it’s tradition to sit down after the funeral and share a meal. Ben Hanson discovered that the reason we eat after funerals is to “ease our suffering and support one another” and we humans have been doing it for millennia. If that’s the case, I’m not a very good supporter, because I avoid the funeral buffet at all costs. You won’t catch me dining after I’ve just buried a good friend or family member. #ThatsJustWrong

Let me ask you: what places do you avoid at all costs? What makes you weak in the knees or causes an irrational fear to creep over you?