Asking for a Miracle...

    Back from work...kids safety to their prospective schools.  I should be sleeping, but I can't.  Mind just won't give in.  So, here I go again.
    I have mentioned I am a nurse but I didn't expand on that very much.  I work in a dialysis center with the nocturnal program.  Fourteen people come in to our unit three days a week, climb into bed, and we (myself and two awesome patient care technicians) stick them with VERY large needles...then they are expected to go to sleep.  Their blood is pulled out of their body, run through a machine, and an artificial kidney (called a dialyzer) cleans their blood and returns it to their body... constantly, for eight hours!
    That is a very simplified version of it. My patients can suffer cramps..you know the kind that make you jump out of bed screaming at night.  Think about that happening while stuck in a bed, with needles in your arm, having to stay still.  Patient with renal failure are prone to infections, can suffer from nausea, low blood pressure, congestive  heart failure, blood clots,  blood loss....in short...it's not a good time!  My patients spend about 10 hours with me or Julie, (the nurse that works Tuesday's)  three nights a week.  Obviously, that is a lot of time together.  I get to know them well, their families, their friends, their habits, (good and bad) and their life.  
    I love my job.  Hate the hours...but love my job. I love being able to get to know my patients.  Many become like family.  I like being able to plan education, follow medications, and monitor labs. I can help get each patient what he or she needs, whether that be medication, food, help with diet, depression, or compliance with their treatment.  I like having time to sit and talk to my patients. I like being able to make a plan and it not just be a piece of paper the state will look for when they come to inspect. 
    But I hate...I hate  the fact that my patients don't get better.  The best I can hope for is a transplant, but only one in five of my patients qualify for one.  That means, for most of them, dialysis is forever.    I used to have nightmares about being on a machine for eight hours.  I am slightly claustrophobic, so the thought of being chained to a chair or bed by needles... it scares the hell out of me.
    I knew Mr. Scomb for many years. He was a retired pastor.  He always had a smile, story, or joke for the other patients.  The young patients listened to him, cared what he thought of them, even those who had no religous beliefs.   An eighteen year old young man told me he had to quit smoking because Mr. Scomb was worried about him and he didn't want to let him down.   He made the frightening, and for some devastating, news of dialysis a little easier to swallow for many new patients.  He was on the transplant list, but made himself inactive so he could attend his son's wedding without fear of being called at the wrong time and ruining his son's big day.  He was so happy to be able to be at that wedding!  His family meant everything to him.
    I was told he had a heart attack...at home... in his sleep....with his family. Mr. Scomb made me a better nurse.  He told a story to many of the new patients on dialysis.   I'm sure the story has been told before, a little different here and there, with the same idea, but for some reason, it meant more coming from him.

    In the little town of Saratoona (could be any town), it had rained for days.  The river that ran through the town was flooding it's banks and putting the town in danger. The rains fell and the flood waters rose.  The town was evacuated.  Everyone left without a fight, except Tom.  Tom was a very devout Christian.  He told everyone if they had faith in God, HE would save them.  The others just looked at him with pity.  The flood waters rose and soon they were up to the top of his front steps.  A sheriff in a pontoon boat paddled up to his front door.  The sheriff told Tom that the flood waters were expected to rise even higher.  He begged the man to get in the boat.  Tom refused.  He told the  sherriff to have faith.  With faith, God would save him.  The sheriff shook his head and continued on. 
    A few hours later, the flood waters were up to the second story of Tom's house.  He was sitting in a rocking chair on his second story porch reading a book as the red cross volunteers steered up to his porch in a speed boat.  "Sir, you need to get in.  The flood waters are expected to cover all of these houses. You will drown."  Still, Tom stuck to his faith.  He smiled and told them, again, faith would get him through.  They would see.  The volunteers realized they could not make him go...so they left him, with sadness and regret.
     Wasn't even an hour later and the flood waters were up to the top of the house.  Tom sat on the top of his chimney, still calm and serene.  A helicopter flew over and dropped down a rope ladder.  The coast guard yelled at him to grab on and they would pull him to safety.  Tom still refused, but the smile was a little shaky this time.  He took a deep breath and yelled up to them, " My God is Awesome!  He will save me."  The coast guard had other people who needed to be rescued and could not continue to hover over Tom's house.  They had to leave.  All of them bowed their heads.  They were sure that they were going to be the last ones to see Tom alive. 
    Just over an hour later, the flood waters covered Tom's house.  Tom could not swim.  As he was sinking in the turbulent waters, he became angry. "How could God abandon me!  I had more faith then anyone.  None of them had faith, but me!" 
    When Tom arrived at Heaven's gates, he had one thing on his mind.  God himself came to the gates to great him.  Tom bowed his head. 
    "I know what you want to ask me, Tom."  God told him. " I never abandoned you!" 
    " Yes, yes you did.  I waited for a miracle and still I died."
    "Tom, my precious child, who do you think directed the sheriff, the volunteers and the coast guard to you?" 
   
    I was told this story by Mr. Scomb.  He was a wonderful man.  I had asked him how he could remain so happy and encouraging to others, when in his situation.  His answer? "This is my lifeboat.  It may not be the answer I wanted.  But  it is the answer God gave me.  Without it, I would die."  I learned a lot from Mr. Scomb.
    My disorder is lifelong.  It is sometimes tough.  In fact, sometimes it is complete hell.  Instead of being chained to a chair with needles in my arms...I am chained in my own mind.  The good part, I too have a lifeboat.  My family, my friends and support from the most unexpected places.    I think of Mr. Scomb often.  Often with a tear, but even more often, with a smile.
    I was going to try to do a funny blog today, but for some reason, I felt someone needed to hear this.   I hope Mr. Scomb doesn't mind.

Til next time,
Don't worry about walking in my shoes,
Just try a day thinking in my head.
  Angel