Putting Things Into Perspective

Please note: Although this story is based on an actual event and from my perspective the feelings are genuine in every respect, it was also written with respect for the patient's HIPPA rights; his privacy as a patient. I have changed names and details out of respect for the young man in the story. However, my respect and admiration for him remains the same.
  
Before I gave up my Pastoral Care Commission at a local hospital, I had a memorable experience with a young patient. The events that transpired on that day are etched into my memory and have have helped to put my life, my pain and the purpose of hospital ministry into perspective.


On that particular day, my assignment was long and tedious. Several patients either needed a sounding board or somehow established a connection with me or my family and extended conversations ensued. By the time I got to the end of my list, I'd had it. My feet had gone the distance. I felt as though I was in the final stretch of a full marathon. But I had one more name on my list. Someone named Blake with a room on the neurosurgery floor. But due to the intense pain I'd been literally walking on, I was finished! I started toward the elevators. Blake would have to wait until another day to receive communion. My feet couldn't take another visit. 


On my way to the elevator, I looked down at the name again and said a prayer for the patient named Blake. I asked that he or she could forgive me for stopping before my assignment was complete. But when I looked at the name, I saw a person's face. I suddenly thought to myself, why should Blake have to miss receiving the Body and Blood of Christ today, just because MY feet hurt? Suddenly, stopping before visiting my last patient didn't make sense to me. Somehow, I had to make it to Blake's room.


I made my way into an empty alcove and leaned my whole body against the wall. I took off my shoes one at a time and stretched my feet. I alternated lifting and rotating my feet, trying to relieve the intense pain I was feeling. I went into the restroom and sat on the toilet for a few minutes just to take the weight off my feet. I scrubbed my hands and looked in the mirror. I could see pain etched deeply into my face. I splashed water and prayed again. God, I need your help to make it to see Blake. As I walked toward Blake's room, I had to laugh because, of course, his room was the very last one at the end of a long hall. Okay God, now you're really testing my faith. But I know you can get me through this.


When I walked into Blake's room, I was astounded at the vision that greeted me. The room was large and the young man in the hospital bed had his head completely wrapped in bandages. Even with the bandages, I could see that he was a handsome young man. And he was smiling from ear to ear as he thanked me for being there. He thanked me for bringing the Eucharist to him and said it was an important part of his day.


At his bedside, three state troopers stood in full uniform. They were standing side by side in what seemed at the time like a military honor guard, yet they stood there reverently - as if guarding a fellow trooper. Their flat-rimmed trooper hats were identically held with crossed hands behind their backs as they stood in what seemed to be an "at ease" position. 


I was introduced to the police officers in the room who cheerfully declared that they were all on a mission to make sure young Blake would someday be able to return to full duty with them. It was indeed a touching sight. Their eyes were smiling but I definitely detected an emotional presence in each of them.

The young man's dad sat at the edge of his bed with more pain on his face than I could have ever known. On the wall to my right was a large portrait of the young man as he looked in his state police uniform. What a handsome and proud young man in that portrait! I later learned that it was Blake's graduation picture from the State Police Academy, which was just weeks before his accident. I was told that Blake was in his early twenties and had been in a vehicle accident in bad weather on an interstate highway.


My "reasons" for making the walk down that long hall continued to multiply. The young man and his family were from the same small town as my parent's families. So there was an immediate connection. In fact, we discovered that Blake's grandmother and my own godmother had been very close friends for many years. Blake's dad kept thanking me for my visit and the prayers I offered on Blake's and his family's behalf. We spoke in the very limited amount of Cajun French I could muster and the dad began to relax a little. He wanted to talk about Blake; about what a wonderful and compliant son he was and that his life's dream was to be a state trooper. The son was on his way to pick up his parents for an anniversary dinner when the accident occurred.


As they told me Blake's story, I fiercely fought tears. I could also see by looking at the head bandages that a portion of Blake's skull appeared badly damaged. A tree trunk had pushed through his cranium and had crushed bones in his head. I wondered about the extent of his body-wide injuries. I wondered if Blake would ever be able to fulfill his life's dream of being a state policeman. The more I wondered, the harder I prayed and the more I fought tears. There were many months, perhaps years of recovery in Blake's future and in his family's future as well. 


In return for my prayers, I was somehow given the assurance that Blake's faith and the strong family faith that hovered in the room would sustain them through these difficult years. This faith was responsible for the fact that Blake was alive and alert and receptive to prayers and the Holy Eucharist.


There was almost a spring in my step and I retraced the hall, returned to the chapel and made my way through the parking lot. Of COURSE my feet still hurt, but I knew without a doubt that my pain was not even measurable on the same scale with Blake's.  


God bless Blake and his family!