Rush hour traffic doesn't keep me from being late for this appointment. I leave early so as to arrive on time. I'm usually on time but today I have to be on time. I promised my best friend I would meet her by the Information Desk 15 minutes before her appointment. I look for her as soon as I enter the foyer. There she is....I can see her sitting beside her husband on a bench. We hug, we make small talk, we wait. We wait until the clinic opens at 0800 hours. Soon the three of us are inside an examining room with a surgeon and his resident. We are listening intently. We are trying to grasp all that is being said.
The following weeks are filled with anticipation, anxiety, fear, hope, disbelief, shock, and faith. Would she survive this or
would her life end prematurely? The waiting is endless. The
moments precious. The day arrives and my life stands still as my best friend fights for hers...
I step off the elevator onto the third floor and walk towards ICU. I move forward not knowing what is to come. I think I know, but just maybe, I who know everything, doesn't really know anything after all. I walk through the double doors that close behind me. In front of me another set of doors. This time they are locked. I press a button on the wall and a voice speaks to me, "Who are you here to see?" I reply with the name of my best friend. "Are you family?" "Yes. I'm her
sister." I am not lying cause we really are sisters. Soul sisters. The doors swing open and I walk through.
But I am not prepared for what is to come. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to experience. Not nursing in a hospital for fifteen years, not age or wisdom or experience; nothing could have prepared me. Perhaps for the first time in my life I am utterly speechless. Powerlessness overcomes me. I am frozen where I stand. Fear rises up in
my belly. A man's voice asks me if I can stay awhile. Yes, I can stay for awhile. Her husband leaves. He will only be gone a short while to have some lunch. He is meeting their son. Tubes are everywhere. A tracheotomy allows her to breathe and maintain sufficient blood oxygen levels. Four drains in her neck help reduce the swelling and promote healing. Several bags of fluid hang on IV poles and are continuously administered into her blood stream. I don't count them or try to understand what each is for. I see the feeding tube and feel grateful her body is receiving nourishment. I remember she was anxious about the thought of feeling hungry after surgery and not being able to communicate her needs to the staff.
my belly. A man's voice asks me if I can stay awhile. Yes, I can stay for awhile. Her husband leaves. He will only be gone a short while to have some lunch. He is meeting their son. Tubes are everywhere. A tracheotomy allows her to breathe and maintain sufficient blood oxygen levels. Four drains in her neck help reduce the swelling and promote healing. Several bags of fluid hang on IV poles and are continuously administered into her blood stream. I don't count them or try to understand what each is for. I see the feeding tube and feel grateful her body is receiving nourishment. I remember she was anxious about the thought of feeling hungry after surgery and not being able to communicate her needs to the staff.
I speak not a word. A voice inside me screams, "Where are you, my friend? WHERE ARE YOU?" Suddenly her eyelids fly open, rapidly blinking; as though she hears my question. Her eyes look like a deer caught in the headlights. She is not aware of my presence. The monitor reads her pulse has jumped to 116. Her BP is 168/120. She presses a button in her hand over and over again...giving herself morphine for the pain. Her eyes close as the morphine flows. Vitals return to normal.
I gently let her know I am here. Once again her swollen eyes open. She winces and pulls away as I gently bend towards her to touch her brow. I sense her fear as I pull back, aware this is not okay. Once
again, she blinks rapidly, but this time seemingly with purpose. I ask her if she needs her eyes wiped with a warm cloth. She nods. I find fresh linens on a cart in the room. I grab a face cloth and place the cloth under a hot water tap; squeezing out the excess moisture. This small action gives me a moment to gather strength to face my friend without crying. I wipe the grit away from both eyes with the warm cloth. My eyes notice the bandages on her left arm where the graft was taken. I am both in awe and horrified by the incisions on her face and neck. So many. Her whole body is swollen with fluids. Sixteen hours on the operating table. Sixteen hours. Tears well up in my eyes and spill over. I am grateful she cannot see. She needs me to be strong. No...nothing had prepared me. Nothing at all.
She is resting comfortably. I sit and browse through the local paper, not really seeing the words in print. No. My mind drifts...
My Best Friend...forever my best friend. A lifetime of love and laughter, joy and pain, sharing secrets, dreaming dreams. Recovery, healing, becoming! Yes, we have shared a journey of becoming the women we are intended to be by accepting and loving the women we are. Loving ourselves, loving and nurturing other women, and yes, loving and nurturing the men in our lives. Honoring our experiences! Forgiving our choices! It has not been an easy path. Depths of despair experienced in the darkest places of our souls. But side by side we climbed the mountain and found our treasure...the light of forgiveness and pure love washing over us, cleansing our hearts.
I leave the hospital and look to the skies. The sun is shining. The skies are blue. A crisp winter day. I don't know what the future holds but I do know that the God of my understanding walks with me in my pain and that same God is carrying my friend until she heals enough to be able to walk on her own. I wipe the tears from my eyes and stand tall. Today she is alive and today that is all that matters.
