About two weeks ago I blogged about a patient I encountered, a self-proclaimed trailer trash loser. Big time loser! As in no hope for a future, period! Or that’s what she thought anyway.
If you missed out on that particular post I would encourage you to give it a gander for the full story here, but I can also break it down for you now.
Basically I encountered a drug addicted, shell of a woman. She was allowing her life to waste away at the hands of her drug addiction coupled with multiple other issues to which only she was fully aware. I could only see the most recent that confronted us both at the time, the fact that she had almost died from an intravenous drug overdose.
Anyway, you will from here on out see me refer to this patient as “Princess.” While she was quite certain of her obvious label and therefore must-be-true title of “trailer trash” I explained to her during our time together just how false that was. While she might have thought she was an unlikely heir to the thrown, I explained that in the eyes of her Father the King she was most worthy of a crown.
At the time, as her eyes glazed over with my administration of anti-anxiety medications to ward off withdrawal symptoms, I only could hope, and definitely pray, that my words somehow permeated through the cracks in the wall she had built around herself.
Today as I washed the breakfast dishes I watched out the window in front of the sink. There in the dead grass sat my daughter talking to herself as she shoveled dirt from her sandbox into a net beach bag. I watched amused as some of the dirt fell through the holes and she continued to try and fill it to the top.
She looks so big I thought. And beautiful. The afternoon sun played upon her cheeks and filtered through her dirty blond hair. I felt my heart swell and was filled with a pride that I assumed only a parent could feel, a joy that consumed ever part of me as I looked at her. Growing up, changing, but still my little girl.
I think we are often brought up to serve a God who reigns from above, in the clouds with His mighty hand. He sees all. Knows all. And punishes those who turn from His ways. His distant throne beyond reach, but always present when we feel we mess up royally. No pun intended.
Most, if not all, of what we learn in Sunday school is true. He is a vengeful God, an angry God. He hates sin! A lot! But He loves His children, and I think that’s where we get amnesia.
I think we forget the character, in its fullness, of our Father God. We forget He delights in us. We forget that He gazes upon us with joy, overflowing joy, at the beauty of His child as she grows. He delights in us even as we fruitlessly try and fill a basket with dirt that falls quickly through all the holes.
And so it was with Princess. She had forgotten that He loved her. No matter what. She didn’t realize that He could love her still, and she could live this life like the Princess her Father saw in her.
I told her so, but you just never know when someone is ready to listen not just with their ears, but also with their heart.
So I was surprised when she called. The clerk at my work said I had a call parked, but I figured it was a family member of a current patient. But then she spoke.
I could sense the tears on the edge of her voice as she told me her name, not that I needed the introduction. At her first word I knew. I felt my throat tighten as I unwittingly absorbed the raw emotion that was emanating through the phone receiver.
“Your words changed my life.” She said. “You made me want to change, made me realize I could.”
I would be lying if I said the tears didn’t pour from me at that point. They did. She went on to explain to me that she was leaving for rehab, but wanted to tell me first.
She asked me not to stop doing what I did. Later I thought about this. I’m not sure if she meant nursing, or if she was referring to treating others with kindness, compassion, and love, even the apparent “trailer trash losers.” Either way I figured I could oblige.
I gave her my number at her request. She wants to talk again, when she can, and update me on how she’s doing. I look forward to that.
As she spoke I could sense a change in her voice, a lightness about her. I sensed hope and maybe even a touch of apprehensive excitement. I would like to think that something I heard, something peculiar I sensed in her airy voice was a newfound love for self, brought forth by finally trying to see herself through the eyes of her Father, the King.
Ruthie Young says
Thank you for the rest of the story. Wonderful. Now we will all pray for “Princess.”
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thanks Ruthie. I know she will appreciate that!
Shelly says
I work at an on site pharmacy, at a nursing home/geri-psych facility. I must say, I have been thoroughly disappointed at the quality, compassion and skill of many of the nurses I work with. Unfortunately, a lot of my job as the CPhT/Manager of the consultant pharmacy ends up being finding errors that the nurses make & reporting them. (A COPD patient passes away, I go retrieve all their meds & find over 2+ months worth of nebs, antibiotics, and inhalers…that miraculously according to the MAR, were ALL given for 6+ months). It makes me so sad & frustrated to think someone died as a possible consequence to this. I am told, “You’ll get used to it…it won’t be a big deal after awhile”. I hope I NEVER get used to a life leaving this earth.
Long story short…thank you for restoring my faith in the fact there are nurses that are VERY good at their jobs & CARE! I do some training with the nurses in our facility & I will use some of your words/posts to encourage them! I know it is difficult to work with some of the types of residents we have…but when you stop caring about the person living/suffering, etc–it’s time to re-evaluate & remember why you went into nursing.
Thank you so much for being thorough AND spreading the love of Jesus to your patients!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much for the comment. In everything I do I want God’s light to shine first and foremost. I begin my work day with a prayer that I hear His voice and do no harm. Thanks again.