I’m sitting in the hospital, waiting for my husband to go into surgery.
That doesn’t mean quite the same thing to me as it does to many of you. Since he is a heart transplant patient, we have spent many nights in the hospital.
I tell friends to please call us when they are having procedures or hospital stays. We really want to be able to be there for them.
One: people have always been here for us. Two: I tell them I am a pro hospital sitter.
If you want someone to sit with you in a waiting room or beside a hospital bed, I’m your gal. I rarely notice that smell everyone talks about, doctors and nurses don’t scare me and I can talk about anything under the sun to keep your mind occupied.
The downside is that sometimes I forget that none of this is easy. My husband has been prodded, poked, bled and cut open so many times that I forget that even “routine surgeries” aren’t routine to the person having them.
I’m not a wimp. But when I had laparoscope surgery, I hurt for weeks. I’m pretty sure this would be a big deal for me. He barely complained of pain after having his chest split open.
When I sit in the cath lab waiting room, waiting for him to have yet one more camera routed into his heart, I look around and remind myself that most of the folks in there have never been through this before. Those waiting with me me have a person they love going through something very traumatic and they are scared.
So God pulls me out of myself and allows me to use what we have been through to comfort others.
“Who is your doctor?” is usually all it takes because people want to talk. People want to hear that they are in good hands. And so many times I forget that people are open to being prayed for.
I try. When I hear that inner Voice, when I feel the nudge of the Holy Spirit, I try to listen and obey.
But sometimes I forget to come out of myself long enough to quit listening to what is interesting in able to hear what is afraid.
And occasionally I receive an unintended reminder from my husband, that no matter how much a person goes through, hard stuff is still hard stuff.
I pray for that, not just in hospital waiting rooms, where I am reminded more clearly, but in daily life.
People hurt. God can heal.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)