Take One For The Team!!!
I want to take the
opportunity to share some additional thoughts about life in the PICU. I say “life” because very few people
experience the initial sleepover we had on our first visit…the one where Zoe marched
right out of there in her white paten leather cowgirl boots! When I was
surprised that our sweet nurse wasn’t sure how to discharge a patient, Renee
kept saying, ”You don’t understand…kids don’t just eat graham crackers, order dinner,
and walk out of the PICU!” Little did I
realize…
Maybe you all don’t live in
the naïve and selfish Eva World that I do…well, that would just be awkward
anyway…the housekeeper is a train wreck, and the chef evidentally prefers
things grown in a box. Plus, I hear there's rarely any vacant rooms, and the staff is demanding...best to steer clear.
Maybe you excel at bearing
one another’s burdens; maybe you write cards to those that are hurting; maybe
you actually pray fervently for those who are struggling in intense pain of
every kind. To be honest, I thought I did too…before May 22, 2013. As we continued to sit there all day, every day, in this
place we would soon call home, we witnessed all manner of heartache.
A car accident claimed the
life of a young mother, while her sweet baby girl fought for hers. Her “big”
brother, all of 5, had to be told…along with a long parade of extended family
members…that his mommy “was an angel now” and that the doctors would do
everything they could to save his little sister. (The grief counselors’
words…not ours)
A mom (along with family and
friends) had her world rocked to its core when her 15 year old son was
completely healthy one minute…then air-lifted by helicopter to the U, the next. When she arrived, she found him clinging to
100% life support.
I’ve already told you about
my new friend who’s been in the PICU since mid-March with her sweet newborn as
they navigate complex heart and anatomy issues.
A 10 year old girl had emergency surgery on a
brain tumor.
A 12 year old girl had open
heart surgery…she’d been living a normal childhood 6 months before.
Babies came and went…untold
stories never forgotten. I could go on and on.
And even though I wasn’t as familiar with their stories, I saw the same
heartache when I visited the PICU this past Tuesday.
It didn’t take long…maybe
just hours…before you truly began to understand what it really means to “weep
with those that weep.” Had I ever truly
borne the sorrow of another? Carried the burden of the suffering on my back
with my own sweat and tears? I would have to honestly answer with a resounding “NO!” Talk about conviction.
We did the best we could to change that. Our pain was not more important than theirs…our wounds did not
run deeper…our patient was not, as much as it pains me to admit it, more vital
to our world. We prayed with some…we
cried with others…we shared stories…we sang loud enough to provide some
comfort, but hopefully not to annoy. (No promises there.) We truly were living
life…gut-wrenching, crummy life…together.
Always feeling like it was
never enough, I was nonetheless grateful for the eye-opening opportunity God
gave us to understand what it means to be His hands and feet…and
arms…definitely arms.
People are grieving all
around you. Some from the physical loss of a loved one…some from the emotional
wound of betrayal…still others grieve a life not-lived, a dream
not-realized. I, for one, will choose to
engage…to not live in ambivalence.
We need to be the church. It’s not
optional…it’s expected…by the one who started this whole deal.
Man up. Take one for the team.
