Sometimes I feel that I must be the kind of person in times like this that speaks only of what is frustrating me — and then people feel like the care that Cecilia is getting is sub par, or that I’m upset with the hospital, or that I don’t trust the doctors.
No, it isn’t that at all.
A long time ago, I realized that ultimately, everything is in the hands of The Father. And I will advocate where I can, and I will do all in my power to get what anyone I love needs. In fact, I will do more than that. I will take to The Higher Power the things that I seemingly cannot move or effectively change. But when I fret and stew over stuff that I cannot change, it sours my attitude and sometimes alienates the people who could help me most.
To quote Old Gertrude, “I’m not that kind of girl!” At least, I don’t want to be that kind of girl. And so, we will wait, as recommended, and pray, as always, and believe yet once again that God Loves our Cecilia Girl as much as he loves any of us, and He is here!
Last night in the Emergency Room, I spent long hours by my Cecilia-Girl’s bed. I shed a lot of tears out of sorrow, out of frustration, out of a deep, deep sadness, and out of a desperate sense that something was so wrong with a person who could not verbalize, and nothing made sense. I stood beside her bed and nurses and techs and doctors came and went, procedures were done, and Cecilia made her pain noise and sweated cold beads of sweat and endured (again) repetitious efforts at blood getting and IV starting and NG tube inserts and monitor placements and warning bells (which she HATES) and palpitations of her distended, painful stomach, and unceremonious transfers from stretcher to CT Scan table, back to stretcher and back to a cramped little room on the side hall of the hospital’s ER. There were many moments when it was just her and me, and I seized those time to talk out loud to both Cecilia and Jesus and to ask for a sense of His Presence there, in that room where it felt like the air was thick with disappointment and sickness.
And He came. In those desperate prayers and in the longing of my soul for some tangible evidence of His Presence, HE CAME!
HE CAME! in the gentle hands and reassuring words of a tired nurse, almost at the end of her shift, who worked very hard to do for Cecilia what needed doing.
HE CAME! in the listening ear, understanding heart, and the thorough reporting of a red haired nurse, new at the job, but intent on doing things right.
HE CAME! in the skilled hands of an ER Tech who got a really good vein for everything that was necessary all night and was still working this afternoon when I left.
HE CAME! in the rapid reversal of the most alarming symptoms and in the choices made by the professionals.
HE CAME! in the caring of Eldest Daughter who arranged for her Daddy to bring me food and drink when the day stretched on and on.
HE CAME! in the quiet of the midnight, when it felt the night would never end, and brought peace and strength and quiet calm to this anxious, troubled heart.
“He is here, Hallelujah! He is here. Amen! He is here, Holy, Holy, I will Bless His Name again! He is here! Listen closely. Hear Him calling out your name. He is here, you can touch Him. You will never be the same.”
So powerfully the words came into my mind as I waited there, and I sang them softly to Cecilia while the machines pumped a vile looking liquid from her stomach and the fluids and antibiotics dripped silently, and yet another IV infiltrated into a rock hard grapefruit under the sleeve of her gown. He was there when the labs and CT Scan came back with the reports of a dangerously high white blood count. He was there in the reports of an obstructed bowel, and a possible pinhole-sized perforation. He was there when the decisions were made for a bed on Intermediate Care, and He was there when the hospitalist gently touched my shoulder, said reassuring words and promised to do all he could for our very sick girlie through the night and sent me home to rest.
We have an uncertain course ahead of us, but He is here!