Rehab was on the 3rd floor. I was in the middle room. I had a perfect view of the fountain.
The next morning, Tuesday (Dec 2), I was moved to the Rehab unit on the 3rd floor. I was nervous, not knowing what to expect, but hopeful too. Ready to be given the tools needed to overcome. Ready to get the ball rolling anyway. New floor. New people. New impressions.
The nurse on duty when I got there was to work often and I would get to know her the best. I liked her, but more than that, I respected her. She was so so so busy, both with nursing and I found out later with school too, but she always had time to make you feel like you mattered and weren’t a bother. I realize this was part of their training for both nurses and aides, but some had a true underlying patience about them. This lady oozed patience. Even when she had to be firm (which happened with the more cantankerous patients), she never lost her cool and kindness.
There were 3 aides that stood out to me. One was a young lady who worked days. She was a talker, funny, but mostly she spent a lot of time encouraging and praising. She and Jeff seemed to hit it off joking back and forth. Another worked weekends. I can see where she might have seemed harsh to some, but I liked her cuz she was straightforward yet compassionate. And then there was the older lady who worked nights much of the time. She was another who truly cared, remembering the little things about her patients. Their likes and dislikes and the little things that made them comfortable. I believe she was probably a Christian, and we had a couple conversations about the bible.
The doctor on the floor was an older man. He reminded me of my dad and I liked him. He’d been warned about my “herbal tendencies” but didn’t seem at all threatened by it. In fact, the nurses at one point confiscated my “stash” of herbs and supplements pending doctors approval, and he gave it all back. While I wouldn’t say by any means that we got close, he was another who truly cared about people. He even gave me a hug when I was going home.
I didn’t try to “be” a Christian nor witness to anyone. Neither did I try to be brave nor was I a steadfast sufferer the way a Christian “ought to be”. I was just me, going through some hard stuff. I was genuine. I was honest. I cried a lot. I was scared a lot. I was disheartened and discouraged a lot. I didn’t have a tremendous sense, or any feeling at all really, of His Presence. But in and out and around all of that was Christ. He was living and present whether anything “spiritual” seemed to be happening or not. Some people saw it and were touched by Him. Most were oblivious. I didn’t see it as my job to point Him out, or to “evangelize”, but only to be who I was in Him within the confines of the circumstances. I found a lot of solace in His Word and in music. Those who were meant to see, did see. I sincerely believe that.
