After suffering a massive stroke, I spent most of 2017 hospitalized. This extended confinement—over 100 days between the hospital and a rehabilitation center—became one of the most profound lessons in patience I’ve ever experienced.
When I was finally released to return home, I encountered an unexpected heartbreak. Many of the people who came to visit me treated my condition as though it were a spectacle. It felt as if I had become a sideshow attraction, with visitors unsure of what to say or how to respond to seeing me in such a vulnerable state. What hurt the most was the expectation that I should “perform” or prove my progress—“Can you move your leg?” “Try turning your neck”—as if I were there to demonstrate tricks for their curiosity. These were tasks I simply couldn’t do at the time.
Some even suggested I wasn’t giving my all, failing to understand that my 100% didn’t look like theirs. In fact, it had taken all the strength and determination I had to simply put a button into a buttonhole. That small act was a major victory for me—a miracle, really. Yet, the lack of empathy from some visitors quickly turned my joy into discouragement. They had no idea how much time, effort, and prayer went into that single achievement.
I share this not out of bitterness, but as a reminder: you never know what someone else is going through. What may seem insignificant to you might be monumental for someone else. Consider the journey they’re on, and respond with empathy rather than judgment. Be mindful of how your words—and your expectations—may affect someone who is already fighting battles you cannot see.
To protect my emotional and spiritual well-being, my family made the decision to limit visitors. While it wasn’t easy, it proved to be the best choice. This change not only shielded me from unnecessary emotional strain but also gave my family the space to re-establish our rhythms and treat me as they always had—beyond the role of “patient.” Slowly, they began including me again in family jokes and the banter we once enjoyed.
Our prayer life as a family became more intentional. Prayer wasn’t just about healing anymore—it was about unity. We prayed not just for recovery, but for restoration. They reminded me daily that I wasn’t just someone dealing with a medical condition—I was still a wife, a mother, a Nana, a woman of God, and a pastor. Each of these roles came with adjustments, but also with grace.
Through it all, that simple act of putting a button in a buttonhole taught me patience, perseverance, and how to find joy in the small victories. It trained me to see the hand of God even in the most routine tasks.
Dr BJ is the wife of her beloved husband of over 44 years. She is the mother of two phenomenal adult children, an amazing bonus daughter, and Nana of incredible grandchildren.
