Sarah

Today is easier...but yesterday was just a continuation of a nightmare with all the "lights" on.

The week began with large swallows from multiple streams of hope and joy flowing with undercurrents of sadness and anticipated separation anxiety. My joy has been nurtured by Beth Moore's Bible study entitled, "Stepping Up." It's an examination of the Psalms of Ascent sung by God's people on pilgrimmage to Jerusalem for the feast days. They're short and packed with heartfelt passion and incredibly honest confessions of doubt and fear blanketed with faith and determination to endure and prevail...perfect for my life right now. In addition, I've been reading 2 books that are turning me upside down. My spiritual "antennae" are constantly up now with the dials turned toward "Discernment of Truth" and "Desire for More." One of the books is, "The Shack." The other is, "So You Don't Want to Go to Church Anymore." I got the second one for my son, but after reading the first chapter, I decided it was really for me first! Mondays are difficult at best...laundry, 2 complete dinners to last the next 3 days, grocery shopping if necessary, and a nap to prepare for my first 12 hr. night at work. The day has to begin with devoted time with the Lord; otherwise, I wouldn't have anything to give all those patients and the people with whom I work...but honing out the time is a battleground with scattered remnants of failure. This week, I won...the time was full and sweet. That would prove to be a life-saver.

Undercurrents of sadness...oh yes... We took Sarah our 13 1/2 yr. old Chocolate Lab to the vet Monday afternoon for a minor procedure the next morning. It was a simple, fast-growing cyst on her hind leg, and the anesthesia, they promised, would be minimal because of her age. It was so sad to see her go, knowing she wouldn't sleep well in such a loud and unfamiliar place and knowing the discomfort to come...for her own good...hmm. The other current was a son who doesn't answer calls, voicemails, or texts. Occasionally he'll respond to a Facebook message and often to an email, but we wait. We beg, plead, and threaten, then just let go...over and over and over again. It's a lesson in futility and forgiveness...and we love him from afar. Flowing over and under those currents was the knowledge that Michael is leaving next weekend and won't return until Thanksgiving, then there's Christmas, then...well, he's probably going to travel abroad next summer. This summer has been precious, but it is the last one like it with him in the house. There's also this girl...(who I love, by the way, but...).

Monday night was amazingly easy at work. That was a surprise...and a set up. Sarah returned home Tuesday afternoon in good shape after her surgery. I left her laying peacefully on the kitchen floor, sleeping off the rest of the anesthesia. The nightmare began at work. Before I even clocked in, I was transferring acutely ill patients to bed, and the safety of every patient on that unit was in jeopardy because of a sudden, simultaneous inflow of postoperative cases. At the same time, my phone began ringing...incessantly, urgently, and unusually. My family knows not to call between 6:00-9:00pm because of the intensity of my work load during those hours. When I angrily answered, noticing it was my husband, he was in a panic, pleading for help. Something was wrong with Sarah. Her stomach was huge, hard, and she wasn't breathing well, drooling constantly, unable to stand, and in pain. I was helpless. I was elbow deep in a mixture of life and death issues, so I urged him to call the Vet then carry her to the Vet Emergency Clinic. I never had a chance to call back, assuming all was well, until 10:00pm. Kevin and Michael were in the car on the way home...without Sarah. Kevin couldn't speak. It was Michael who told me she had to be euthanized because of a life-threatening condition called Gastric Torsion...and no one knew if it was the result of poor management at the Vet or a freak event. Internet research since that time has not helped.

We have grieved...and grieved. Undercurrents of sadness have threatened to drown me as waves of grief have pulled me under until I've not been able breathe without tears. Sometimes I think, "She was just a dog, it's just college, and he's just a kid...," but none of that has helped. It's been a process, and for the first time in a long time, I've been really honest with God. He already knows my heart, so who do I think I'm kidding?

This entry is to honor the passing of a sweet, devoted, unassuming, and loving member of the Porter family who has taught us about God on a daily basis. This week has been filled with lessons on the brevity of life, honesty, and the responsive faithfulness of a Father who loves through deep, darkness into light and hasn't let this daughter drown under the weight of grief without the buoy of a personal Lifesaver who has repetitively rescued me from the waves. Psalm 121 is my memory work and Psalm 122 is my hope.

Experimental Prologue

I've toyed with the idea of writing a book...to the extent that I've actually written a Prologue and several chapters. It's a book of devotions based on Philippians with quotations from the "Binding of the Blade" series by L. B. Graham. My heart has accompanied his characters on their journey for the past 2 years. I wonder if it makes any sense...

Prologue

“Sending you to Sulare is not exactly as I had expected. I knew it would be a bittersweet day when pride in your achievements and sadness at your departure would mingle in my heart. I anticipated the excitement I would feel for you, even the curiosity as I wondered if it would be for you all that it was for me…I just didn’t foresee the worry and the anxiety that grows in my heart.” Spoken by Monias in, Beyond the Summerland

This collection of letters…a veritable book of impassioned revelations…is a catharsis of sorts in response to, “…the worry and the anxiety that grows in my heart…,” as my sons leave in various ways to register for life experiences that necessitate journeys into the unknown. I don’t feel at all ashamed about my emotional discomfort after discovering that Monias, one of the characters in “Beyond the Summerland,” a warrior, respected father, and very much a man’s man, confessed the same emotions for his son, Joraiem. Both Monias and I have been assured that our sons’ destinations are divinely appointed by Allfather and will be nothing short of life-changing; however, at this junction in my life, I am acutely aware of the dangers, trials, and sacrifices soon to be required of the sons of my heart. Life journeys change us for better or worse, depending on the path chosen at each crossroad…and there will always be more than one path from which to choose. It is in the choosing and the living with that choice that wisdom, insight, endurance, and purpose are realized…hence, the purpose and direction of these letters. While reading Paul’s letter to the Philippians, I sensed God calling me to, “…rightly divide the Word of Truth…,” from a mother’s perspective for my beloved life travelers. It is my prayer that each letter will open heart doors so that God’s Word is able to reside through personal application. Any additional blessings will be the result of God’s amazing grace, evidenced in personal surrender, as I journey through the challenges of motherhood with sons born to be Kingdom warriors.

Amazing Grace

“Amazing Grace”
Nursing Exemplar

The evening began like any other…electrified by the “tyranny of the urgent.” I received report and my assignment as CDF, (Charge Nurse for two units), then quickly began to check emergency equipment and assess the bed status on my two units. Rounding a corner, one of the more experienced nurses beckoned to me, asking that I visit a patient with her. She quietly and reverently described the patient as we walked as an 89 year old mother of seven who was dying from lung cancer. She and her family had determined that her final health decisions would be dictated by a Living Will which was translated in our system as a “Do Not Resuscitate” order. Our role was to support her efforts to breathe and to keep her as comfortable as possible. Three of her daughters were with her, and the remaining brothers and sisters were on their way. I sensed the finality of life before I entered the room as the sound of quiet sobbing met my ears. The patient’s rhythmic wheezing interspersed with occasional weak coughs and the bubbling water humidifying her oxygen were the only other sounds. The girls moved respectfully from her bed as we entered, but remained within arm’s reach. My friend introduced me as the CDF but also as the resident “religious person.” I almost laughed, but I knew what she meant, even if she didn’t. We quickly assessed the physical condition of this frail lady, then my friend offered to have me pray for their strength and comfort. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Literally drowning in oxygen rich air, the patient still struggled, but we all began to breathe deeply the fresh air of peace. We explained to this mother what we were going to do as she smiled and closed her eyes. Holding hands around her bed, we thanked God for her life and for her influence, even from that bed. We acknowledged her years of service and then surrendered her to the arms of the only One who could ease her discomfort, her Savior, Jesus Christ. The peace that miraculously reaches beyond human understanding and provides light in the dark places of our lives began to fill the room and the hearts in it…especially ours as nurses.
All the children finally arrived, stationing themselves around their mother, taking turns holding her hands, fluffing her pillows…doing all the things she had done in days past to bring them comfort. Soon, they lifted her to a recliner to aide her efforts to breathe. She was so exhausted that they had to help her hold her head up to keep her airway open. Called to her room again, I entered to find seven adult children honoring their mother with broken hearts, looking for comfort that could only come from Heaven. Once again, I led them in prayer, then suddenly, I had the strongest urge to sing. I have NEVER sung to a patient in my life, so I timidly asked if she liked music. They all agreed music would be the best medicine, so we sang, “Amazing Grace.” The words were lovely even with faltering voices. For a moment, time stood still as we worshipped in spite of the pain, experiencing amazing grace from within…the ability to fully experience life and death without fear.
I haven’t sung to a patient since that night. It was a unique and one time event thus far, but it provided a framework for future situations in which a holistic approach is desperately needed. In our fast paced practice, we’re often uncomfortable when urged from within to provide for our patients’ emotional needs which may require a sacrifice of self-made comfort zones. Nursing has at its core, comfort…with a cost. May I always remember the effect of amazing grace with a willing heart to pay the price.

One Voice

It seems everyone has something to say, so I thought I would add my "one voice" to the mix. Today, I was surprisingly honored in an award ceremony for writing an "exemplar," a story written to describe one of my experiences as a nurse. Maybe it will bless someone as my first entry on this new blog. It's my life...

“One Voice”
Nursing Exemplar
By Remnant07

“Oh no!” I heard a coworker exclaim. Everyone stopped what they were doing, turning in unison to see the look of horror and despair on her face. The printer had just spit out one of many new orders for the patients on our unit as our night shift neared its end. All the order said was, “Shower patient,” but the patient to which it referred was an adult male with Down’s Syndrome who weighed in excess of 350 pounds! The reason for the order was obvious…his body odor made entering his room a challenge for everyone. His current hospitalization for a wound dehiscence had been preceded by a tumor excision from his massive thigh. It had become so painful prior to that initial surgery that he had refused to walk at home, choosing instead to “scoot” on his bottom which quickly removed the first layer of skin from his backside. His bottom was a raw mess and so very painful. The dehiscence itself was massive…18cm deep in most places in an incision that was over 60cm long, encircling 75% of his thigh. Practical questions suddenly became items for debate. Would he agree to stand at all, much less in a shower? More important, was there a shower anywhere large enough for him? What about his separately draining wounds? What health risks were there for this patient and for our staff, and what if he should fall? My heart broke for his nurse. What we were all thinking but not wanting to voice was, “Leave this one for the day shift.” Then, I heard one voice bravely say, “If we all pitch in, we could bathe him just like a shower in his bed, change his dressings, and be done by report time.” We all turned and stared in wonder. Instead of disbelief or reluctant disgust, another voice chimed in, “Yes! I think we could do it! Let’s go!” That’s all it took. Five nurses and 2 Techs converged in that young man’s room with one hope…to make a difference for everyone. Little did we know what a difference it would make in us!
Looking back now, the memory is nearly a blur. The required tasks all blended in a flurry of separate but smoothly coordinated activities, each person automatically organizing a portion of the mission according to a personal expertise. Some heated water while others gathered towels and organized linen carts near the door. A couple of nurses gently and teasingly explained the procedure to the patient turning the whole thing into an adventure and convincing him it would be the highlight of his day! Dressing supplies were gathered while his entire room was straightened and cleaned, making room for 7 of us to work unhindered. Robed from neck to knees in disposable gowns, we became ministers of purpose with laughter. We soaped, splashed, washed, dried, cleaned, packed and wrapped with supernatural speed and agility. An impossible assignment for one became the welcomed challenge for a finely tuned team…and we made this precious young man smile in the end.

It's been said, “It takes a village…” In this instance, it took one brave voice igniting compassion which fanned into flame excellence and devotion in a small group of gifted professionals. May those voices be multiplied for the benefit of all.