Sometimes when you ask Jesus to help you see people through His eyes, He gives you some heartbreaking perspective.
Recently at the hospital we had a patient who came in late one night. During our staff huddle on Christmas morning, we were all warned about her—“She yells at
people, calls them names, hard of hearing, complains,
talks your ear off, etc…” She was dependent for most of her care, but it was very difficult to help her because she was so painful in certain areas. She ordered us not to touch them, but it was impossible
to tell where we could and couldn’t put our hands to turn her. The process was
complicated by the fact that we had to literally yell for her to hear anything
we said. When someone accidentally touched the wrong spot or did the wrong thing, she lashed out
verbally. All of the things I heard at huddle were true—except it was achingly
obvious that it all stemmed from great physical pain, psychological
distress (and some mental illness), and the knowledge that no one cared.
This patient was anxious, painful, and had lost nearly all control of her life. She
was very particular about little things like having her box of tissues in the
exact right spot, and having all the bedding just right.
We figured out how to roll her with less pain (though still not how her own caregivers did it) and everyone was kind, but slowly and surely each staff
member got a little irked.
I was in and out of her room a lot, and I tried to love her like Jesus did. We didn’t have many extended conversations due
to her hearing loss, but I was able to get to know her a little bit and saw numerous smiles. Somehow it came up that I loved
Jesus. She told me that she was an agnostic even though she grew up Protestant,
but she still believed in the power of prayer and that it got her through her
last hospitalization. She asked me to say a prayer for her, and I agreed. I
didn’t do it there, because I didn’t think of it, but it was probably better
since I would’ve had to shout it. I asked her if she’d like me to sing, and she
requested Hark the Herald Angels Sing. In hindsight, I wish I had sung more—she
really appreciated it.
She had a number of concerns about her health, and she felt like none of them were addressed during her stay. From the medical team’s perspective, I think that they didn’t see any acute problems that needed
to be treated, especially given her baseline condition. But that
doesn’t discount the fact that she felt ignored. That is a horrible feeling, especially
when you’re in the hospital.
The next day she continued to express concern that no one was
listening to her. Her paranoia was certainly partially a result of
psychological issues, but her feeling of being unheard was legitimate. While
taking her vitals that morning, it hit me that she was knowingly leading an
existence where everyone resented her. Her volatility got her caregivers so unruffled
that they forgot she was a person. She was just a bother. Each place she went
was happy to see her go somewhere else. When talk came of her discharge,
everyone was relieved.
She had a rose sitting in a cup on her bedside table, delivered on Christmas by the family of another patient. As I was helping her get ready to go back to wherever she lived, she mentioned
that she wanted to be sure to bring her rose. I fixed up a little
contraption with a hospital water bottle and some tape to make a watertight
container she could hold. She kept insisting it wasn’t going to work, but when
I was done she was pleased. She came with no belongings at all, but when transport arrived, she repeated over and over
not to forget the rose. “I need my rose!” I was struck by her attachment to her
flower—something bright in her life, something that she owned and wanted to
care for, something that made her feel valued.
After she left, I couldn’t take it anymore and I went to the
break room and cried for her. I was (still am) absolutely heartbroken. I literally
cannot imagine what it would feel like to bounce from one place to another, knowing that she was
utterly alone. I just hope and will be praying that Jesus will reveal His great
and intimate love to her. She doesn't have to be alone because God is always at her side. He is so real and He loves her more than anyone else
ever can.
Given that the majority of our patients are old people,
homeless, and drug addicts (and often all three), it’s pretty easy to get
disillusioned with the completely broken system. Addiction, trauma, poverty, damaged
families, and mental illness produce hurting people that are hard to save. We
can’t fix these problems at the hospital. Instead, we discharge patients back
to the street in sub-freezing temps, or maybe to an intermediate facility first. We get frustrated
at the endless requests for pain meds and the creativity of addicts, and struggle to
distinguish between real pain and drug-seeking behavior. We run out of ideas
for helping those who suffer from mental illness. We lose patience when dealing
with crazy people. We release patients back into abusive relationships, and
they go because it’s the only love they know, even though it’s fully
conditional. Our compassion is tainted.
I went to a Christmas Eve service this year, and the message
was about waiting. When the people were anticipating the first coming of the
Messiah, they waited through many generations. Many lost hope after living
their whole life and seeing no sign of the Promised One. But when the first
Christmas finally came, it showed that God does keep His promises. He “writes
dates on the calendar.” There is a lot of good in this world, but also a great
amount of pain and brokenness. It’s so easy to feel hopeless and discouraged,
and there’s no doubt that God is sad with us.
But each Christmas reminds us
that God DOES write dates on the calendar, and He is still sovereign. He gave
us Jesus, who allows us to live a life of freedom if we choose Him and take up our cross daily. He gave us
the Holy Spirit, who enables us to be representatives of His all-surpassing
love and peace to His people. God loves this broken world more than we can ever
imagine, and His heart breaks too.
Sometimes when you ask Jesus to love through you, He opens your eyes to the unloved.
Caring for
people is hard. Seeing the despair is disheartening. But God is powerful, and
HE IS WORKING. He brings healing. He gives us hope. And while we wait for Him to return and fix the brokenness, we can love His people.
