My shoe covers rustle along the linoleum floor until I come to the holding area.
I find her, eyes closed on the gurney, brown wisps around green paper cap.
A tiny lady almost swallowed by crisp white and warm woven.
I pick up the chart at the foot of the bed and page through it.
I check for signed permit and review lab work.
I touch her hand.
She opens her eyes and blinks at bright.
I smile.
“I’m Sandy. I’ll be your nurse this morning. We’re ready to take you back.”
She nods, and her chin quivers a little.
I ask her name and check what she says against her armband.
I ask who her doctor is and what we are doing today.
She tells me, and I confirm that with what’s written.
I note the steady drip, drip from bag through tube into arm.
I ask if she has any questions, and she shakes her head no.
So I unlock wheels, and maneuver through the door and down to OR-1.
The rooms a’flurry with activity.
Instruments clatter and clank as the scrub nurse lines them neat on rolled towels.
We stop in the hall for a moment, and she looks up.
Would you pray for me?
Her voice quavers.
She has a broken heart, after all.
And today we will hold it in our hands.
Stop, slice, sew, restart.
I come around to her side and bow my head.
I pray for a sense of His presence and for her peace.
I pray for the surgeon’s skill and for a flawless procedure.
I pray for an uneventful recovery.
Before I can say “amen,” the surgeon barges into the hall and shouts at us to hurry up.
We both jump.
He’s on a schedule, after all.
And he’s not a patient man.
He’s a wonderful surgeon, and he can fix this heart.
But I’ve seen him fling a bent forceps across the room in frustration.
I whisper “amen” and glance down at her.
Her eyes are wide.
I wink and smile.
“It’ll be okay,” I promise. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”
And then I wheel her into the room and next to the table.
She slides over, and I strap her down and hook her up.
Then I hold her hand and gently cup her cheek as she gives up control to the One who heals broken hearts and wounded souls.
From the archives
Stilled and wistful as I remember
and sometimes wish I still wore those scrubs,
Sandy
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. ~Psalm 147:3 (NIV)
Goodness. God’s work, nursing is, isn’t it?
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have caring for me in an OR.
I’m sure you would still be a blessing if you were a nurse wearing scrubs, but I know you are a blessing right where you too. You are a heart surgeon at home, tending to hearts of those around you.
Beautiful. My dad had open-heart surgery almost two years ago. We felt blessed with his nurses; they were wonderful. You can’t fake a caring spirit. I can feel yours through the words you write – as well as through the words you choose not to write. I bet there were quite a few families who were blessed by your care.
Inspired by your compassion for your patient. Thank God for nurses like you!
Your hand holding that dear lady’s hand all thrip ouch her open heart surgery surely is our Paapa’ hands holding her with love and comfort. My late mother was also a theatre sister!
Blessingscxx
Mia
Your ministering is simply beautiful – how He intended us to love others and love others where He plants us. Though you don’t intend, you define I think what a nurse is called to be!
Our nephew just had a Pulmonary Valve Replacement on Friday. Nurses are golden we know that first hand. They were so caring to him and to us. They were amazing. Not to be forgotten anytime soon. He is now home, in fact, came home on Monday and is doing very well.
Sandy you are such a blessing in scrubs or not!! God bless you.
Have a beautiful day!
Dear Sandy,
I bet you were an angel and an answer to that woman’s prayer…I love how God provided for her using you and your compassionate tender heart. Hope you are having a fun summer with your grandgirls 🙂
I love nurses. My hubby is a doc (not a surgeon) but I know he couldn’t do his job without his great nurses! Thanks for this…