A Year Later -- Part 5

As I try to summarize some of the lessons of this past year, one place my mind takes me is to caregivers. Since I had been healthy for my whole life, I never had the need to experience care giving, but my illness threw me into a new world…a world for which I am very grateful. And, no surprise here, along the way I developed a few opinions on the subject…some of which I will share at this time.

True care giving is definitely an art. I would guess that during my 77 days of hospitalization and months of rehabilitation, I have had at least 400 different caregivers. These would include nurses, CNA's, doctors, surgeons, therapists, phlebotomists, family members and the infamous "Lift Team" (the ICU guys who rolled me over in bed every two hours every night). All of them got their job done. Some of them got it done quite efficiently. I appreciate them all. However, among them are an elite class of caregivers who don't just get the job done, but do so in a manner that ministers something deeper to the patient than just merely taking care of the physical needs at hand. Most anyone, properly trained, can do most of the jobs caregivers do. But some have made it an art form.

I think an example would be helpful at this point. One of the benefits of being a patient at the Salem Hospital is that somewhere between 4 and 5 o'clock in the morning, you get to have your blood drawn. O joy. An early morning flurry of phlebotomy takes place as blood has to be drawn and sent to the lab in time for the results to come back before the doctors make their rounds between 6 and 8am. It's a good system…for everyone except the patient who has finally fallen asleep. Waking up at 4am to see someone with a needle in their hand isn't the best way to start a day, but I digress.

For almost an entire week, I had the pleasure (I'm serious now) of having the same phlebotomist. I think her name was Lynette, but I could be wrong. I actually looked forward to seeing her. Now, I don't like getting my blood drawn any more than anyone else, but Lynette had the art of care giving. She cared about me as a person. She cared about doing a good job, certainly, but she cared about much more than that. I soon realized that I wasn't just an object to her. I wasn't just a vein from which to draw blood. I was a person with a soul.

I think this might be central to the difference of being a caregiver who just gets the job done and a person who truly has the art of care giving. The former see the task that needs to be accomplished, the latter see the person before them. Don't misunderstand, I'm grateful for those who got the job done--meds were accurately given, sheets changed, biopsies and more biopsies taken and tested, etc. The medical community can work efficiently without the art of care giving, but thankfully among them are those who do more than just accomplish their assigned task. They, somehow, have the ability to bless the whole person. If the human race were merely machines--soulless bodies--efficient healthcare would be sufficient. However, since we are spiritual beings living inside a physical body, having caregivers who truly care makes a massive difference.

Now I want to be the first to say that I don't think I could do this. It seems overwhelming to me to think of the emotional drain it must be to let your care giving heart reach out to yet another needy person bedridden in front of you. With our modern medical practice, these patients keep coming in and going out like the waves of the ocean. None of them stay long, and as soon as their bed is vacant it is quickly occupied by another. I don't know how they find it in them to keep caring for continuous waves of hurting people.

Yet, I can testify that some do. Nurse Nora, graciously tending to my wound, Nurse Jennifer patiently pouring meds and formula into my feeding tube, the CNA (Rina?) who was so kind as she gave me my first shower in such a long time, the Russian nurse whose tenderness was felt from my skin to my soul, my primary care doctor who gets that "I wish I could do more" look of sympathy in his eye when he sees me, and on the list goes…I can testify that there are true caregivers among us. As my wife, Joanna, has knelt before me a thousand times to put on my socks or put lotion on yet another outbreak of rash, I have been touched deeply by not only the physical act that she is performing, but the true sense of care that she is providing.

This level of care giving can only come from a heart of care giving. It's not a method that can be taught. It is a heart that must be caught (or, you could argue, given by the Holy Spirit--heaven's caregiver.) This cannot be an easy heart to have. A price is paid by those who keep giving and giving of themselves. But, I believe that it is the price that Jesus himself paid as he testified, "The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many."

So today I celebrate those who have the art and the heart of a caregiver. Blessed are you, the true caregivers, for in you we have seen the Christ himself.

My life is the better because of you. Thank you.

John

PS I have been given the opportunity to preach at our weekend services November 7/8. I'd appreciate your prayers that I'd have a sensitivity to what the Spirit would have me say and the vocal strength to say it 5 times. Thanks!