Ode to Joy

The rain has been falling off and on all day here, with brief interludes of sunshine in between. This day is winding down to a close, and still I can hear the thunder far in the distance signaling that more rain is on the way. I will sleep soundly tonight.

Tomorrow I go back to work. This week off has passed by so quickly and I have tried to soak up all the quiet and solitude I could, for the days to come. My job is intense, both physically and emotionally; I try to give each patient as much time as they need but sometimes this puts me far behind and I find myself literally running to catch up. It’s a balancing act, spending enough time so that no one feels rushed, but not causing the other patients to wait an extraordinarily long time.

 Sometimes the waiting wears on them, causing them to snap unkindly at me or speak harshly to me. I try not to take it personally; most of the time it is only the disease and their fatigue speaking. Most of the time. They have no idea how tired I am, and how much I care. They have no idea that I haven’t had lunch or a break, and the ache in my feet will become a drumbeat of pain that will keep me awake that night. They only know that they are tired, and they are sick.

This job is unlike anything I have ever done in nursing. The rules are different, there is little predictability and the people come in every imaginable size, nationality, personality and culture, bound together by the diagnosis of cancer.  Some of them want to be drawn close emotionally and comforted with words and gestures and prayers.  Others want only the facts and care to share nothing of themselves with me. It is a dance we do, the patients and I, carefully choreographed but both of us sometimes unsure of the steps.

My youngest patient is 19, with a diagnosis of lymphoma. He is frail and slight of frame, looking more like 14 than 19, sporting piercings and a musical note tattoo.  He has no family support, and tries to cover his fear with joking and laughter; the mother in me sees right through his facade down to the frightened little boy that lives inside him. Unless God intervenes miraculously, he will not live to see 20; still we hope and we medicate and we prescribe chemo and we run tests and we wait. It’s the young ones that hurt me the most, those that seem to have been cheated somehow. I do not presume to know the mind of God; His ways are not my own and His thoughts far above mine. Still I sometimes wonder why. The older patients are a little easier to turn loose of, a little easier to let go. I hold a little piece of each of them inside me.

This job, this clinic, these patients have taught me things I would never have otherwise learned. They have also hurt me in places that I didn’t even know existed…. I have loved them, I have laughed with them, and I have mourned with them. As hard as it has been, I am a better person for having done this. It is a mission field held within the brick and mortar and glass of a building, and coming there each day is no different to me than ministering in some far away third world country. This clinic is where I have been placed for now, to minister to those who are in need. I give to them out of the abundance of my own life; I know this is my gifting and I cannot imagine doing otherwise.  As the days are shortened, and this world winds down to its end, I must be about my Father’s business.

I know the day will come when I will have finished this task, and my time there will come to an end. I know that in the not too distant future I will walk out of there for the last time and not look back. I want to know that I have done my best; I want to know that I was a woman of integrity and a woman of excellence. That is my prayer.

And so as I sit here on the Easter night, I know that I will get up in the darkness tomorrow morning and I will do it again.  I will try to do what I do with a right spirit and with a heart of gratitude, not because it’s easy but because it’s the right thing to do.  I covet your prayers, and I promise to pray for you as well, as we walk this road together toward the prize that is just beyond the horizon.

The joy is in the journey.

A silly moment with my beautiful coworker Cheri and me.