The bureaucracy involved in caring for my dying sister, Brenda, was atrocious and angering. Insurance would not approve her to remain in the hospital with hospice, and hospice said her condition and required care were beyond their qualifications.
After innumerable phone calls, begging and pleading to keep her in the hospital to no avail, we ended up bringing her to our parents’ home, lugging a large oxygen tank with us. Arrangements had been made for a hospital bed and the necessary equipment to be delivered. Everything arrived, and all the delivery men and women departed quickly, leaving us alone in that bedroom.
Before leaving the hospital, I had been given quick lessons on suctioning her airway, cleaning her trach, and administering her medicines through the tubes. No one cared that I had a weak stomach or that I had no idea how all those machines worked. I found it infuriating and ironic that the hospice service did not have any personnel qualified to handle her equipment, so it was left to her sister, an English teacher. Brilliant logic! Shakespeare and grammar were useless.
However, my sister was an excellent nurse, highly intelligent and mentally strong. She had been unable to talk for the last six months, so we had stacks of notepads containing our conversations. I had spent weeks with her, reading her scripture and telling her jokes. We shared childhood memories and adulthood discoveries during those weeks. The absence of verbal communication was not an issue for us. Her eyes conveyed what she needed and what she was thinking. She didn’t always think my jokes were funny.
That first night alone in a bedroom at our parents’ home with tubes and bottles as our roommates, I frantically tried to check and recheck a plastic container that provided moist air to help her breathe. For some reason, it was not attached correctly, and she was struggling to get enough oxygen. She scribbled out things to check and recheck. She explained how to remove the container and put it back on. She drew a diagram. Nothing I did worked. I was terrified and heartbroken. I wanted to bring her comfort and confidence, but I was inept as a nurse.
Brenda and I struggled all night. I adjusted pillows, messed with tubes, doing everything I could think of to bring comfort. No results. Anger and bitterness were growing in my heart. Did no one care about our situation? Why couldn’t it be me in that bed?
I prayed so hard for God to just show me what needed to be done or fix that blasted container Himself. His response was “Maggie.” Maggie was a nurse; she would know what to do. Maggie was a friend; she would understand being awakened by the phone before 4:00 a.m. I entered her number and listened for the ring.
No ring, simply a voice stating, “I’ll be right over.” Then, she had hung up.
I had not even said anything!
Within minutes, Maggie was rushing through the door and going straight to that stubborn water container. She adjusted some tubes and then checked my sister. In only a few seconds after Maggie’s expert work, everything was working properly, and my sister was resting.
A few minutes prior, I had felt defeated, alone, and heartbroken. I had tried, but had failed.
Then, with a bedhead instead of a halo, a human angel had arrived.
I sure hope I can be someone’s human angel, but maybe without the bedhead.
