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Tuesday last I awoke from my nightly
slumber with terrific pain in my chest, much like an elephant break-dancing
on my chest. It was painful just to breathe, but like the trooper I am, I
shrugged it off and set about my daily routine. Rather than improving, the
pain intensified.
I went to my office and started the day's
work only to find it almost impossible. Fortunately, my one daughter is a
paramedic with the fire department and the other is an EMT with the county
ambulance service. Sitting at my desk, I saw the vehicles pull into the
church office parking lot.
Within a few minutes, my office was filled
with EMTs and paramedics. (Someone and I'll mention no name, only to say
this person who lives at the same address as I, squealed on me.) Their
unified mission was convincing a rather stubborn preacher to go to the
hospital. According to their examination, it was possible I was having a
heart attack.
Who knew I even had a heart?
Each took turns persuading me that I
needed to go to the hospital. Their strategy was to wear me down. To my
credit, it took half a dozen to do the job. The ambulance was outside and in
a few minutes, so they assured me, they could have me in the emergency room.
"What about it, Reverend," a good- looking
paramedic said, "how about going to the hospital?"
"Okay," I finally agreed, "but I'm not
going in the ambulance, I've already mortgaged my house."
I was escorted to my paramedic daughter's
jeep and away we went to the ER.
When we arrived at the hospital, they
rushed me into the emergency room and started working on me.
After a few hours, I came to myself (which
is a shock in and of itself) and discovered my chest had been shaven. Now,
what I need to know is, once shaved always shaved? Just a theological ruse.
In examining my chest, I discovered I had
17 nipples of which all but two were hooked up to some monitoring system.
When a person, such as I, is in a dazed confused condition, this is enough
to create a heart attack.
The medical staff put me through all the
tests they had in their diagnostic arsenal. Evidently I had crammed the
night before because I passed all the their tests with flying colors.
Although I passed the tests the pain in my chest continued.
During my medical odyssey, I discovered
three things.
The first has to do with nurses, which are
the first line of defense in a medical situation. Sometimes n and I'm not
complaining, just grateful n they are the only lines of defense. Certainly,
they are the link to everything a person needs.
It is extremely important to keep on good
terms with these angels of mercy. For one, they are the ones who wield the
needles in the ER.
Nurses have two kinds of needles. One,
they have the nice sharp pointy needles that pierce the epidermis with the
greatest of ease causing the least amount of discomfort.
The second type is reserved for those
certain patients, and you know who you are, that cross them. I'm referring
to the square point needles that gouge the flesh. I'm proud to say I
experienced the former.
The second has to do with hospital
bedpans. What deranged person masterminded this dysfunctional appliance?
Some research must be funded by the government to track this person or
persons down and have them executed.
Normally I'm not a violent man. My
philosophy is "live and let live." However, hospital bedpans are not normal
and are deliberately designed to malfunction every time. Don't ask me how I
know, I just do. If not executed, then they should be confined to a hospital
bed for the rest of their life and I have just the bedpan for them.
The third thing I discovered in the
hospital has to do with those x-rated hospital gowns. They come in
one-size-fits-all. That's all right if you happen to be 3'6."
Unless a person is dyslexic, it takes no
rocket scientist to see I am a bit larger than 3'6." I just happen to be
6'3" and have never been mistaken for a midget. I have no idea what these
so-called gowns were designed for but it was not for modesty.
In fact, there is some evidence that
patients in the psychiatric ward of the hospital designed the hospital gown
as a group therapy project. It has absolutely no practical - or impractical
for that matter - purpose in this life. The hospital gown could be
classified as the cross-purpose-driven garment.
Several days have passed since leaving my
hospital oasis, giving me some time for reflection. The hardest thing for a
person like me is to wait. I have my agenda and I dare the person to stand
in my way.
God, however, has devised marvelous ways
of incorporating into our daily regime opportunities to practice this
illusive virtue.
A passage from the Psalms keeps running
through the back of my mind. "My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my
expectation is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my
defense; I shall not be moved. In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock
of my strength, and my refuge, is in God. Trust in him at all times; ye
people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah."
(Psalms 62:5-8 KJV.)
Nurses, bedpans and X-rated hospital gowns
are not the real issues of a hospital stay. Trusting God in adversity is the
most important.
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