This will be a long one, but please read it through. It is the truth.
As many of you know I have some health issues. Recently I spent close to eight weeks in the hospital.
I have a kidney disease, but my main health troubles are caused by chronic pancreatitis.
Over the years I have been in and out of hospitals. During these times I have met many wonderful people; nurses, doctors, and most special are the older men I meet. They are usually older in the hospital for obvious reasons. I get to become friends with many of theses people, and inevitably, some of these wonderful people pass into eternity right in front of me - in my room - which is usually a ward with four beds.
During my most recent hospital stay, I met several fantastic people.
Here's what happened...
Whenever I find myself in the hospital, I am usually in a good deal of pain, and as a result, I am given powerful I.V. pain medications. For the first month, I was on 100mg of I.V. Demerol every two to four hours, and 50mg of I.V. gravol every four hours. Powerful narcotics, which barely controlled the pain.
I was hooked up to an I.V. pole, which carried my bags of pain meds and the only source of nutrition I had in six weeks before I was put on a clear fluid diet - broth, tea, and jello...I hate jello now! Yes, even the red colour!
Whenever I am hospitalised I make myself the "unpaid nurse" of whatever room I find myself in. Our hospital is very, very busy, and as a result. I found myself being moved from room to room and one floor to another, depending on how many women vs. men in emergency awaiting check-in, vs. rooms that were available at the time. I spent the first 36 or so hours in a tiny room in the emergency department by myself.
As soon as I was sent to a real room, I made myself available to the old fellow who shared that semi-private room. The nurses loved me because they were seldom “buzzed” by whomever I shared a room with. I would make tea, or coffee – or fetch any number of snacks from the pantry for my roommates. I ran as fast as I could with my pole in order to get the odd sick bowl to an ill friend, and I did other clean up type jobs. The nurses loved my, but my new friends and their families (if they had any) became my friends also. However, the most important thing for me was that I did it all in His Holy Name.
It was rewarding to do it, especially when I was so sick – I know that sounds odd, but it’s the truth my friends.
I lost a lot of weight quickly and my doctors and nurses were concerned.
I became very tired and weak, but He held me up and I continued to be moved from room to room and floor-to-floor meeting new friends as I went along.
One particular friend I met was an Englishman, named Arthur.
Arthur was in his mid to upper fifties, and had a beautiful, and extremely loving family.
Arthur had been battling cancer for twelve years, and he had been cancer free for four or so years prior to his latest hospitalization. He was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and it was in his leg.
He was told it was highly treatable. Arthur would have his chemo treatment in hospital, and was going to be released for a number of weeks, then, he would return for another treatment.
That’s how it was set up.
We became quick friends. I was his private nurse! At least, that was the joke in our room because I also had two other “clients” in our room. One fellow “Jeff” was in my Dad’s battle group in the Far East Fleet during WWII. My Dad was on H.M.S. Illustrious, and it turned out Jeff was on the Indomitable! Of course, they didn’t know each other, but it was great to have met Jeff.
There were four beds in that room, and Jeff was to my right while Arthur was straight in front of me. Arthur and I had window beds.
One day, Jeff was discharged, and I exchanged numbers with him, and I did most of my other friends in there.
That night, at around 7pm, I looked up to see a familiar sight…Arthur’s wife was reading a woman’s magazine – his daughter, who was in her mid to upper twenties was doing some needle work – his oldest son was in Texas, but the youngest son was there working away on a lap-top computer, while Arthur sat up in bed reading his newspaper. It was a loving family who for all intents and purposes, appeared to be in their own living room at home spending an evening together. It warmed my heart to see it each evening.
Later on after his family had hugged and kissed their Dad goodnight, Arthur said, “I don’t feel right John” I asked him what was wrong, and he told me he felt cold.
I buzzed for a nurse. He told the nurse that he felt cold – that his legs felt odd, so the nurse took his vitals. His vitals were not too bad – he had a slight temp. So the nurse went and got his a warm blanket, and Arthur went to sleep.
I won’t go into any of the horrible details, which I witnessed that night, but I’ll just tell you that Arthur’s final hours were not good. Arthur died at 6am after four nurses and two doctors worked feverishly to revive him…. I witnessed the entire sight, and was heartsick.
It was totally unexpected by everyone – nurses, doctors, his family and myself were all shocked. I had been praying for Arthur from the day we met, and God took him home, so unexpectedly.
I shed many tears for my friend and his family.
I met more new friends, and went on as best as I could until I met Bruce.
Bruce is 46 and was diagnosed with the same cancer, which took my brother – pancreatic cancer. There is no cure for this one my friends, so I was heartsick at once, and I immediately became very close to Bruce and his wonderful wife, Monique.
They were Christians, and Bruce was the kind of person who was instantly familiar and likeable.
We spent many hours taking to one another.
One night, Bruce went for surgery to remove a blockage in his oesophagus, so that he would be able to eat and drink again.
That particular night was a bad one for me pain wise. My doctor was called after I hit the floor in pain. I had blacked out, and immediately began to throw up uncontrollably.
The nurses were running around wide eyed, and it frightened my room mates (they told me later) the doctor came running in and immediately began barking out orders to the nurses. It was all muffled to me.
I remember being given a series of needles, and the next thing I remember was waking up a few days later with a huge bag of painkiller busily dripping away into my veins.
The nurse saw that I was awake and began to call the other nurses to come see.
It was odd.
That day, as I began to become more aware, Monique came into the room and said that Bruce had surgery to remove the blockage, but it turned out to be cancer causing the block, and he was being moved to another room and another floor.
I went back into a haze, and the next thing I remember was asking where Bruce was.
I was told he was on another floor, and no one knew where.
It took me two days to find him. I dragged my pole around the hospital for two days searching. When I found his floor I asked a nurse to see if Bruce would be willing to see me. She came back with a huge smile and led me to his room.
To continue...
