‘O h, my G*d!”
It was fall 2020, and I had just been taken by ambulance to a New York City hospital. Without a doubt, the paramedics thought I was wasting their time and was merely having a panic attack. (If panic was an element, the 911 dispatcher yelling at me may have had something to do with it.) They all but got out their smelling salts so the silly woman would drop her drama and not faint. As they rolled me into the hospital, a male nurse uttered the aforementioned blasphemous exclamation when reacting to my blood pressure. Needless to say, his response only heightened it.
After a long day of inattention, it was confirmed that I was, in fact, sick and in need of medication. By some miracle, I was able to deliver a meditation at the vespers service for a dear friend and religious-freedom hero the next day.
Mercifully, I had not been in a hospital for myself since then. Until just after this Memorial Day. I won’t bore you with the details other than to give thanks for people who truly understand their jobs to be vocational. This includes the men who transport patients, the housekeeping staff, the people who deliver food, and, of course, aides and nurses and doctors. I actually had two hospital stays in the past two weeks, one involving 22 hours in an emergency room because of the lack of beds in the hospital. People were on stretchers everywhere, and I may have cried, thinking I had made a terrible mistake coming back.
After a radiology visit during my second admission, at 9:30 p.m., I was back on a stretcher. There wasn’t a ton of human encounter save for vital-signs checks. Feeling a bit sorry for myself as I waited and waited, I watched people passing by on stretchers — so many were clearly suffering more intensely. And then a little boy appeared, sitting up on his stretcher, seemingly awaiting a new adventure. Children shouldn’t have to be in hospitals. I prayed for him and his father, who was following along. Parenting is the most important work in the world. Mothers and fathers perform such an act of trust and vulnerability as they work to provide all the love in the world for their precious ones. That little boy reminded me to pray for all the families suffering health scares and to remember that, even during a 22-hour stay at an emergency room, there is gratitude to be found.
All throughout my two hospital stays, I thought of a quote from the late Pope Benedict XVI, who in 2010 said: “Look at the face of the other and discover that he has a soul, a history and a life, that he is a person, and that God loves this person as much as he loves me.”
What a difference a nurse who cares about the unique person in her care makes! That nurse can make a patient smile, laugh, become less concerned with what’s next, and live in thanksgiving now. Such nurses and others who go above and beyond confirm in a small, but real, way that your life matters to the Creator of the universe. He loves you and will use hospital staff as instruments for your healing.
Toward the end of the second stay, my arms were bruised from repeated blood draws. A nurse showed me a quick video of his daughter. He inadvertently had it on repeat. Watching his darling daughter lick an ice-cream cone was better than any medicine I could’ve had to distract me from his search for veins. Innocence is so rejuvenating a gift, if we let the little ones be. But there we were, two people who didn’t know one another and yet recognized our common humanity and desired to protect the most vulnerable — and help them see love in how we love one another.
When you see someone gaze at you with a clear understanding that you are more precious than the rarest gem, you have a real, heroic gift to offer in return to others.
Pope Francis often talks about the beatitudes as the Christian’s identity card. I noticed crucifixes or medals honoring Mary, and even doves representing the Holy Spirit, worn by many of the nurses and doctors who helped me with tremendous generosity and patience. During Covid, there was the banging of the pots and pans to celebrate health-care workers. What about now, though? If you encounter medical workers who look at you with tender eyes and care, say “Thank you” and take the time to put in a good word for them to their employers. People tend to only give feedback when they are angry. We need more gratitude.
Something I was also grateful for was a respite from the news. For the better part of two weeks, I knew next to nothing — except the occasional unavoidable news update overheard or related from a visitor — about what was going on in the lives of Donald Trump or Joe and Hunter Biden.
We should be a community of support in our common humanity. We truly all need us to be. We can give thanks to God — rather than do further injury by taking His name in vain and scaring patients in the process. Dei gratia!
This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.