A recent experience with a patient re-opened my eyes to the beauty and brevity of life. I cared for a twenty-two year-old male with terminal cancer for several days. He had been placed int eh cardiac-surgical unit after a team of surgeons attempted to extract a cancerous mass that enveloped major vessels and organs in his abdomen; he had to be on cardiopulmonary bypass during the operation. Following the complicated procedure, the young man faced a long and painful recovery period. When his youthful wife visited, he would be hopeful and strong, eager to hold his five-week-old daughter and share in her tender life. The patient talked about returning to his college basketball team and working again. But late on night, I was cleaning the incisions that criss-crossed his thorax, and the weight of his prognosis caught up with him. I prayed with him and he started to cry, not for himself, but for those he loved. He cried about his mother worrying about her only son; he cried about his wife and how much he adored her, how he wanted to grow old with her. Mostly, he cried for his daughter, his beautiful tiny infant. He said that he wanted the opportunity to walk her down the isle on her wedding day. I couldn't keep my eyes from brimming as he released his pent-up fears.
I asked God why life is seemingly robbed from the young and responsible. Why is it wasted on those who take it for granted? And as I watched the young man, I saw the truth as if I was looking in a mirror. I take life as it comes because it is easy. I waste time because it is cheap. When I skip exercise, its because I'm strong enough. I let an opportunity to share salvation slip because I'm "short on time". True excellence isn't expected, just as godliness isn't human nature. In lieu of life's fragility, sharing the Truth of His Word, being a Light and living for the Gospel is essential. Only He know how long we have on this earth, or how long our unsaved friends have. Lets let our "light so shine before men, that they may [...] glorify our Father in heaven," Matthew 5:16.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Look Me in the Eyes
After returning from a lively Thanksgiving vacation with family and friends in Washington, I was reluctant to return to the rigorous routine of cardiac nursing. As I was walking into work on Sunday night, I quickly prayed for wisdom... more out of habit than my pride would admit. The first hour after report saw me rushing between two unstable people; one with severe bradycardia, the other in system failure just one day after open-heart surgery. It took three hours to stabilize one of them and get her shipped off to ICU. I found myself placing that ever-so-helpful vial of Atropine in the other patient's med drawer, (you know, just in case). The next two days proved equally as busy; one day I was a resource nurse and picked up a team at half-shift. I was feeling pretty down that night and I finally concluded that I was just too busy. I needed to slow down and actually "see" my patients. Its so easy to move quickly and to give the obligatory "uh-huh" without really listening. In doing this, I lose the opportunity to share Christ's saving love; I'm distracted by treating a mortal being's temporary illness. So last night with my group of heart-failure and dialysis patients, I was determined to care for them as Jesus would.
I find that, no-matter how challenging the group of patients, the night is redeemed if I simply try to see them as individuals. After settling in a very arthritic and diminutive elderly lady for the night, I realized that she spoke with an adorable southern accent. When asking her about her family, she said that her physician had told her that she wouldn't be able to have children. With coy smiling eyes, she said, "I had eight, though. I sure showed those doctors." It was hard to image the tiny 80-lb lady having been the mother of eight, but her spunk spoke volumes.
Another dialysis patient had done surprisingly well after his heart surgery, and was looking to discharge soon. After helping with breathing exercises, I asked him about work he had done prior to retirement. "I was in the CIA," he stated. The gentleman mused, "I liked working under Eisenhower, but Reagan was the best."
Often, Christ's love can be shared in simply giving a little back rub, making eye contact, and carrying the conversation further than "yes and no" responses. I thought about how the lady felt who was left incontinent following a hemorrhagic stroke. And how the man who manages his diabetes and daily peritoneal dialysis treatments all alone must feel... and how being lonely must contribute to his frequent hospitalizations. How much better accountability and support is for the healing process. I wondered what I could say or do that could support these people who have such difficulty. Where would I be in that situation? And how would I cope without Christ? I could enter all the consults, provide the most expert care, but until I take into account the spiritual aspect, I'm not making any lasting benefit.
How special and what a privilege to have the opportunity to care for people. In the whole of society, health care workers are truly afforded a rare privilege of becoming quickly familiar with people in their most vulnerable moments. John 15 speaks to me the most today because I cannot love people without the Spirit of Christ working through me. Jesus stated, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing," (vs. 5). May I never get caught in the grind and lose track of my purpose: sharing Christ with people and caring for the person, not simply treating an illness.
I find that, no-matter how challenging the group of patients, the night is redeemed if I simply try to see them as individuals. After settling in a very arthritic and diminutive elderly lady for the night, I realized that she spoke with an adorable southern accent. When asking her about her family, she said that her physician had told her that she wouldn't be able to have children. With coy smiling eyes, she said, "I had eight, though. I sure showed those doctors." It was hard to image the tiny 80-lb lady having been the mother of eight, but her spunk spoke volumes.
Another dialysis patient had done surprisingly well after his heart surgery, and was looking to discharge soon. After helping with breathing exercises, I asked him about work he had done prior to retirement. "I was in the CIA," he stated. The gentleman mused, "I liked working under Eisenhower, but Reagan was the best."
Often, Christ's love can be shared in simply giving a little back rub, making eye contact, and carrying the conversation further than "yes and no" responses. I thought about how the lady felt who was left incontinent following a hemorrhagic stroke. And how the man who manages his diabetes and daily peritoneal dialysis treatments all alone must feel... and how being lonely must contribute to his frequent hospitalizations. How much better accountability and support is for the healing process. I wondered what I could say or do that could support these people who have such difficulty. Where would I be in that situation? And how would I cope without Christ? I could enter all the consults, provide the most expert care, but until I take into account the spiritual aspect, I'm not making any lasting benefit.
How special and what a privilege to have the opportunity to care for people. In the whole of society, health care workers are truly afforded a rare privilege of becoming quickly familiar with people in their most vulnerable moments. John 15 speaks to me the most today because I cannot love people without the Spirit of Christ working through me. Jesus stated, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing," (vs. 5). May I never get caught in the grind and lose track of my purpose: sharing Christ with people and caring for the person, not simply treating an illness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)