It was a long night. Oh, how
I wished my body could sink into the bed and become one with it. Every part of
me felt tired and impossible to move. My limbs were too heavy to move. The
hands on the clock on the dingy green wall crawled up one side and struggled
down the other.
So tired but I couldn’t
summon sleep. I tried but sleep eluded me. And for some reason I can’t explain the
first digit on my right hand found the little button on the gadget that
controlled the up and down movement of the bed. All night long my finger moved
the button and the bed responded by undulating beneath me. Slowly up and down
the bed moved as I watched the slowly moving hands of the clock. This somehow
comforted me and helped me make it through the night.
At about three in the
morning a little nurse completely swathed in the blue isolation garb including
mask and cap entered the dimly lit room where I lay alone. Others had
previously entered at different times for various reasons, too. I paid her
scant attention until she approached my bedside and said, “I don’t know if
you’re aware of this but you may not make it through the night.”
“Believe me I know I could
die at any time, I’m so tired and weak.” I said.
“I’m here because I’m
concerned about your relationship with God. I don’t want you to die without
knowing God.”
As tired as I felt,
amazement at her words struck me because I knew the hospital discouraged such
conversation—perhaps even meted out hard consequences for such boldness.
I replied, “I’m okay with
God. We have a close and active relationship but I appreciate your concern.”
Finished with her mission she slipped out as quietly as she entered.
All through this exchange my
finger kept the bed moving beneath me. Along towards morning activity increased
in and out of my room someone took my vital signs, took my blood and whatever
else that needed doing. I think they offered me breakfast, not to sure, but I
wasn’t hungry. Around eight-thirty a.m., I realized I’d survived through the
night and knew then I would make it. I finally fell asleep.
I awoke at eleven-thirty
that morning and found a note on my bedside table from a close friend. It said,
“I didn’t want to wake you so sat here while you slept, held your and hand
prayed for you. Love you. Carol” I don’t think she’ll ever really know how
special and dear that note was and is to me. I still have it.
The next day, my doctor, Dr.
Lee, stopped by to see me. He wanted to tell me why I was so weak and ill. I
remember so well, he looked at me and his eyes, which are normal oriental eyes,
were big and round as he said, “Your immune system was wiped out and you have
double pneumonia and pseudomonas.” He added, “Pseudomonas is a blood infection
that kills in six hours. I almost killed you.” I’m pretty sure he felt relieved
I’d survived but at the same time wondering why I hadn’t died. I can’t tell you
when the blood infection raised its ugly self in my system but I have a feeling
it was for far more than six hours.
I thanked the good doctor
for his care of me and have never had any ill-will toward him for the illness I
suffered. I believe he did what he thought best for me.
I still slept most of the
time when the nurses weren’t bustling in and out of my room. I still felt extremely
weak and unable to eat or even sit up on my own. The doctor kept me on oxygen
and antibiotics by IV but I knew I was well on my way to recovery. I didn’t know
then what a long recovery it would be.
