Blurred lines

I am a human before i am patient, the blurred line that marks my face and stamps my name. I am Hannah Roberts a patient and a twenty three year old women. I walk through hospital doors and sometimes i am greeted by nurses who know me, bringing familiarity and unusual comfort that not all will feel nor understand. I fight to separate my illness from who i am as a person, the illness does not define me, even though the bracelet on my arm identifies me as a patient. I joke and use sarcasm while at the hospital, a skill i adapted to make the hospital visits, suck just a little less. The times when laughter fills the clinic are my favourite, and the moments we reminisce about the ones we knew are heartfelt, reminding me to take a moment to be gracious, thankful for the life i have, with all its quirks.
I actually try and think to myself that going for my IV treatment is my job, act like i am going to work so i can focus on what has to be done and not how uncomfortable some hospital days can be, and the ones when i would rather stay in bed. Giving my arms to nurses, to poke with needles puts me in a vulnerable position, a unique trust i did not know existed, with strangers.  Discovering the importance of a brave face when for some nurses the line between patient and someone they watched grow up the last 4 years become blurred. Vulnerability as a patient is not spoken of, and the strength within every patient is not celebrated like it should. Time and Time again, i sit in a room full (not so full now a days) of patients, loved ones and nurses, where i have a front row seat into a unique world of pain, heartbreak, strength and celebration. A lifetime in moments can be experienced, where a person met becomes a patient well known. So blurred lines bring their own challenges and even though no one speaks of it, patients and nurses have a unique world that bring us together, illness and job aside we are all humans.