One week, Two years, and A moment.Posted: March 19, 2013
I sit on the bathroom floor head against the wall too weak to keep it up. My body drenched in sweat, vomit and diarrhea mixed in the toilet bowl next to me. I ring my teammate, the one who’s a nurse. I hear her voice at the end and through the tears I ask her to help. She comes over and gets me into bed. The doctor comes, they give me tablets and drinks, and my nurse-friend stays with me.
I groan in pain and slip in and out of sleep. Another friend comes by to stay with me that night, sleeping in a bed next to mine. I scream with agony most of the night, I try to get up for the bathroom and faint. It takes me three attempts to walk the 50 yards. I make it through the night, sleeping at some point. I know because she told me my silence worried her.
I awake still drenched in sweat, this morning brings no change, vomit and diarrhea are still taking over my life, and nothing will stay inside me. I lay there whimpering and groaning. Pain and fear mixed together, exhaustion not allowing real speech or expression. My nurse-friend comes back, the doctor comes too. They agree I need an IV, the doctor leaves and returns shortly with the bags full of liquid in one arm, the other hand carrying hammer and nails. They hammer in a nail to the wall above my bed and she hangs the IV bag on it. The nurse gets a needle out and pulls at my arm, I’m too weak to even care. She sleeps in the cannula with ease, I’m impressed at her skills and give her a feint smile. The doctor leaves. She sits and holds my hand as we watch fluid drip into my body. I’m too weak to say anything, and my body is ravaged with pain, but I am thankful she is there. The one who cares without being intrusive, the one who cares always with a smile, the one who brings joy into horrible situations, the one who shows me Christ. I am glad she is the one sitting with me.
One week later I will be back.
Only it’s been 2 years now, and my things lie stacked in boxes, collecting dust, and I wonder how that one week ever became 2 years.
I long to go home, to wipe away the dust, to discover forgotten treasures in those boxes. The nurse has long departed, leaving to start a new journey of marriage. The doctor no longer walks those streets. The one who slept next to me night after night, now sleeps alone on the other side of the world. They have all gone, but my heart remains, and my God remains.
He is there, and He has taken my heart there and kept it there.
Today, it rests on today. On those few moments spent in hospital. What will that man who calls himself a doctor but who tries to play God in my life say? Will he speak the words I long to hear “Medical Clearance” or will he deny me?
I live in peace, I walk in confidence, because I know a truth he does not.
He is not God.
God is my father, my saviour, my love, the author of my story.
He is not God, but I know who is, and I know that God is control.