Nurse Melissa
Melissa came in and out of my room a few times early in the morning, and she took my vitals a few times as we made small talk. I could tell she was smiling by the tone of her voice and the smile in her eyes. We’ve all been wearing masks for almost a year now. I am getting good at imagining what people’s faces actually look like behind their masks. I make the occasional joke, and she laughs politely. My wife says that everyone laughs at my jokes “politely.” That may be true, but I get the feeling that Melissa is the type of nurse that would not laugh to make someone “feel comfortable” or “placated.”
It begins
Admitted to the hospital since 1 AM, I am in good hands, and the food is not all that bad here in the hospital. The night before in the E.R., I had a chest vent put in because of my collapsed lung, and the doctors and nurses were clear about why I needed it. My lung had collapsed, and the chest vent would allow air to escape while my lung healed. All morning, Melissa seemed to spend a lot of time making sure I had everything I needed and showed me how to observe my oxygen and vitals. If there was a problem, I could call the number she provided. Pretty straight forward. I could handle it from there, and she left to make her rounds.
It hasn’t been a full day yet, and I already missed my wife. No offense to Melissa, but my wife is much better at caring for me than Melissa ever could be. I looked forward to going home and crawling into bed. I am a little scared but self-assured that everything will ultimately turn out fine. I have no reason to think otherwise as I read up online about my type of lung collapse. Spontaneous pneumothorax is what they say I had because there was no lung puncture or event associated with the collapse. It seemingly appeared “out of the blue,” and I slowly developed worsening pain in my clavicle over a month. As I lay there wishing I had my phone charger and not just a battery pack I brought along, Melissa stops in for another visit and is very pleasant. She says that a lung and heart specialist will be stopping by soon and wanted to make sure she was there for it.
And you were there
I found it odd that I would see a specialist but had never been admitted to a hospital before, so I just went with the flow. What else could you do in that situation? I had a vent taped to my chest, and I am pretty much at the mercy of the doctors at that point. The specialist showed up and had a couple of additional people in tow. It almost felt like that moment when a waiter or waitress shows up with a trainee, and they fumble around with taking the order. I immediately thought, “There are just too many unneeded people in here! What a waste of resources! No wonder healthcare costs so dang much!”
The lung specialist began to tell me that I had “blebs and bullae” in my lungs and that I would need Video-Assisted Thoracoscopic Surgery (VATS). The specialist started to explain more, but I got tunnel vision, and I could no longer hear a single word he was saying. I must have turned pale as I could feel the blood rushing from my face. I perceived people beginning to pull back like someone adjusting the lens in a horror movie too quickly, the room got smaller, and my ears were ringing (more than usual). I was jolted out of the increasing barrage of negative voices in my head when the doctor asked, “Do you understand what I am saying to you?” — I understood it all. I needed surgery, or my lungs would continue to be affected, continue to collapse, and I would have a hundred percent chance of doing this all again soon. I had to have the surgery. They all left the room to give me time to digest the news. Melissa was the last person to go, and I could see that she knew I was scared. I had never been so frightened in all my life, and I feel like I have seen a thing or two in my time! This was different.
It can’t get any worse
I called my wife, and I cried hard thinking of the impact this might have on my family. I didn’t know how much of an effect at this point, but I knew it was not good. Fear was seeping in as I flashed back over the years of smoking, and I flashed forward as I skipped over the dances I would never lead for all of my daughter’s weddings. In my mind, I was already dying, and I hadn’t even had the surgery yet. I needed to pull my shit together, but it was hard to do that in those first moments after being told.
I pulled myself together as I consider the situation. I thought about a friend who recently had a stroke and how much he has continued to be a part of life. The thought of him gives me hope. He has gone through so much and still gives his best every day. I gave him a call and tell him the news. I thanked him for being an excellent example of how to go through adversity and do it with love and dignity. After we hang up the phone, I make up my mind that I will try to do the same thing he has done. I will find a way to let everyone I come in contact with on this “journey to healing” know that I care for them, love them, and value their attention to my care. They may be “just doing their jobs”, but since nobody else can visit in this time of COVID-19, they are all that I have, and I wanted them to feel the gratitude I have for “just doing their jobs.” I decided to be open with my heart and be present for everyone who walks into my room/life. I vowed to show up with full attention and be there for them. I will be the patient they look forward to seeing and being the one they are glad they saw that day. I will beam with joy, positivity, and laughter (the best medicine). It’s not always possible, of course, but I can certainly try. So, I begin to try.
Time to try
My wife wanted to visit, but with the COVID-19 restrictions, she simply couldn’t at that time. She was trying to get in the hospital when she delivered my phone charger, Kindle, and a physical book I had been meaning to read for a while (Joseph Campbell, The Hero with A Thousand Faces). My wife talked to my nurse, Melissa, as she handed over the items, and my wife must have been distraught. Melissa said my wife was not doing well and told me that my wife remarked that it wasn’t fair that this was happening to me. My wife shared with Melissa that I have done so much over recent years (referring to sobriety, quitting nicotine, and other life changes). I am not sure if she shared explicitly about those things, but I would imagine it was along those lines.
My wife called me to let me know that Melissa would be bringing my stuff (which she already did) and told me about how they talked a little and that she was trying to come in to see me, and the hospital staff almost allowed it and then changed their minds. Melissa told my wife that she would try to get her in to visit. My wife shared with me that Melissa asked her a question before she stepped away, she asked, “Can I pray with your husband?” I think my wife was taken back by the question, but she replied, “He’s agnostic but spiritual, not really sure, but you can sure try. Ask him.” After hearing this, I thought about all the people I currently knew and how much they might like to visit too. I thought about the people I knew who were praying for me and how much I would like to be with them in that moment. Not in that hospital. Not in that room. NOT in that bed, and NOT on oxygen. I felt disconnected from them in a way that I could not describe. Purely, alone. I was separated from everyone I loved.
Connectedness
I never prayed with anyone before. I mean, I have been with others as they prayed; I have sat in large groups as others prayed. I prayed for the world to stop spinning, for the cops to give up and go home, prayed for my dad to come back, and for others to be happy. But! I never prayed “with” someone. I thought about it, and considering the circumstances, I picked up the phone and called Melissa. The call went like this; She answered the phone, and I said, “Melissa?” She replied, “Yes. What can I do for you?” I follow with, “My wife says that you would like to pray with me?” And she says, “What? I never said anything like that!” Now! I am sure that my wife didn’t make this up, and I have to repeat myself, “My wife said that you would like to pray with me, and I am positive she didn’t make that up.” She says, “Oh! PRAY! I thought you said ‘PLAY!’” And without skipping a beat, I say, “What kind of Christian am I calling anyway!” We laughed about it, and I told her that I would like it very much if she would come and pray (not play) with me. She agreed to see me as soon as she could. So, I waited.
Time to wait
I read my book and looked around the room. I made sure my oxygen levels were satisfactory, etc. The room had mauve tones, and it looked like how you think a hospital room would look. I had spent a lot of time in this hospital, but never as a patient. All my children were born here, and I spent many hours here with my wife as she recovered. My wife’s mother spent time here, too, during her final days. I wish I could have done more for my wife and mother-in-law back then, but those thoughts will have to wait. Melissa entered the room and walked over to my bedside, and she made small talk about the workload and staff. I got comfortable as I sat up a little and I adjusted. It’s my first time praying “with” someone, and I don’t want to be all lazy about it! She held my hands as I held hers, and she said a prayer. I add, “Do you mind if I say something too?” I tell her that I have more to do in this world, and I don’t plan to leave it anytime soon. She agrees, and I thanked her for her time and prayer. She sanitized her hands and headed out of the room like a superhero, and I am glad she came. I like Melissa. She’s got a huge heart, and it was good to be able to share that moment with her. To feel connected.
I got a call later that my wife had been cleared to visit! The nurses said I was lucky to get a visitor. They were shutting down visits in other hospitals, but they just reconsidered the policy. We don’t “pray” together officially (or ever), but I am sure we are both saying what needs to be said without a lot of words as we held hands. I make sure she felt welcomed, loved, and cared for during our time together. I beam with joy, positivity, and laughter. I gave her my full attention.
My wife left; I was sad to see her go. I sent a few texts and decided to watch some Netflix. In the evening, I was going to transfer to another hospital where they can perform the surgery. I waited, and I said a few more prayers on my own.
