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Patient Patients

Updated: Aug 26, 2019

Lately I’ve been finding myself in hospitals a lot. 2018 has kind of morphed into a three-year package, filled with too many ups and downs to mention. It feels like a never-ending rollercoaster ride. Crazy, wonderful and terrifying turns all squished into 365 days… Well, 248 days and counting.

I was sitting in the "Resus" Ward of the emergency room, nervously tapping my foot as my mom was losing the battle against unbearable pain. Something strange happens when you see one of your parents in such a state. It’s like slowly waving the last piece of little girl in your heart goodbye, realising that you have to be the adult now. Gulp. A lifetime of memories flash through your thoughts, and you suddenly realise that they’re not always going to be there. We so easily take for granted what we have until it is threatened. So much gratitude is cultivated when we're are faced with loss.

There was a brief moment of silence, where everything played off in super slow motion around me.

The medical staff turned into blurs, whispers turned into echoes, and the beeping of the heart monitor set the tone for a penny.

I shifted my focus from my circumstances and looked around me. Both patients booked in to the Resus ward with my mother had attempted suicide and failed. One of them was a young girl. She couldn’t be older than 14 years… Fourteen… Tears started dripping on my mother’s white hospital bed. I fought so hard to keep them in place, but there was so much brokenness all around. I have never felt so helpless in my life.

As the next 24 hours played out, prayer slipped on its boxing gloves and stepped into the ring.

Snarling on the opposite side of the ring was a dark character I knew all too well. Fear.

We went through scans and tests. Drips. Painkillers. Morphine. ECG’s. More morphine. Trying to do what patients do best. Be patient.

Apparently you need to be diagnosed by a specialist before they can admit you to the hospital. The problem with that is whatever caused my mom's excruciating pain was playing hide and seek. They couldn’t pinpoint the problem or how to fix it… So they added a sedative, as this was the only thing that would bring relief.

There’s nothing like a hospital to shake you out of your ever-shrinking world. At 2 AM the sedative started traveling through her aching body, and she was lulled into a deep sleep. Everything else also seemed to dim down… And I started thinking about life and hospitals. I mean after a day like that, you’re bound to get super philosophical. Bear with me.

We’re all broken people. Living in a broken world. Engaging in a never-ending race to find out the cause of our illness, our brokenness. We run the risk of shifting our deepest longing to being diagnosed and admitted. That way we can set up a treatment plan and find healing. Find comfort. Find rest.

What if we got it wrong? What if this drive to find the cause was keeping us from the Cure? We have become so satisfied with sedatives, that we’ve become dangerously comfortable in our waiting rooms.

Lulled to passivity.

Never in my life have I ever been more aware of how broken I am. The truth is, we all need the Cure, and the Cure always trumps the cause. The Cure has a name. Jesus. You don’t have to toil and sweat to receive the Cure, all you have to do is open your hands, and open your heart.

Breathe. Receive. Repeat.

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