This was a creative writing paper I wrote a while back that fits into the story at this point;
I will preface this story with; nothing in my life is easy, everything is a trial for me. God allows my life to be this way, so that I will lean on Him and His mighty power in every aspect of my life, and I praise Him for this fact. Reminding me He’s always there, through others faith, even when my own is small.
She walks with grace, effervescence and authority. This full-figured, voluptuous, beauty with wavy blonde hair and intense blue eyes is one of the many nurses at the nursing facility I “vacationed” at. Being 39 years old and having to go to a nursing facility made me absolutely bitter. So, she, being the first person I met, I had already vowed (sight unseen) to dislike her. She was kind and understanding, allowing me to vent all my frustrations on her. Over the next 3 weeks she had won me over, I was a die-hard Virginia fan. She was A-number-1 in my book.
I was in the nursing facility, because I needed I.V. antibiotics in my system twice daily, through what medical personnel call a pick-line (which is an I.V. tube that runs directly to my heart). Put there in hopes of arresting an infection I had contracted in my bone, which could cause a total amputation of my right leg (3/4's had already been amputated due to a similar thing happening, after some major trauma had already done its damage) or, even causing death. Virginia was the nurse who “lucked out” and got the privilege of hooking me to the I.V. machine. Hooking me to the machine was a pain in the butt for many reasons; 1) the antibiotics didn’t always come on time, 2) the I.V. machine gave everyone problems, and 3) if the medicine was late, that meant the nurse who hooked me to the machine would need to wait until my meds were done being dispersed, so a qualified individual (meaning the same nurse, who hooked me up) could take me off the machine, thus causing that nurse to be late going home. Through it all, she just kept that same grace and compassion, that makes Virginia, who she is.
One day in particular she had orders from the doctor to take my blood at two different times, before my antibiotics and an hour after my antibiotics. As I said in my opening, nothing in my life is easy. After 14 years of my veins being poked and jabbed causing immeasurable stress and shock to my body (especially my veins), my veins have learned to fight back. They will hide from, roll out from underneath of, and/or shock the person holding the needle.
Virginia heard the horror stories, from me and quite a few other nurses about my veins, so she had prepared herself. She had decided to put another I.V. in the other arm, so it would only take one stick to draw blood twice. Preparing the area she was to stick there was a look of concern on her face, for the fact, that she did not want to cause me any more trauma than was necessary, physically or emotionally. Poking the needle in she felt resistance, which I felt automatically and immediately I started praying out-loud, quite emphatically and resounding, in fact (I‘ve never been accused of being quiet LOL). A flash of shock shown on her face (I don’t think she had a patient so boldly or loudly pray like this). But what came next gave her more of a shock, as I prayed unafraid, the needle went in with ease. With a bit of relief on her face, she taped the second I.V. down and drew the first blood, then her focus went to the other arm.
Having to hook me to the I.V. machine that would pump the antibiotic into my arm. Thinking of the trouble just moments before the concern crept slowly back onto her face, as the machine started giving her fits, not wanting to pump, and beeping at her repetitiously. Without even thinking about it, I was again praying loudly, which shocked her a little less this time, being more prepared for this. At the moment I started praying, the machine stopped acting off and went about it’s business, as though there was never a problem. The look of concern slowly melted off her face, and she walked to the door. "Thanks for the prayer,” she said as she flowed out the door in her hot pink scrubs with animals of all sorts applying bandages, every which way.
A week later, it was Virginia again, who had the orders to pull my pick-line (I.V.) from my arm. She hesitated much of the day, putting it off, so she would have the I.V. specialist at the facility to call on if needed. Not understanding this, until now when I look back, I kept nagging her to take it out. Finally, when I had became unbearably obnoxious (in all my “manners” of persuasion), to appease me, she gave in to my demands. She graciously had me go to my room, while she gathered up the needed equipment. Cascading into my room in her usual affable style, she laid out the medical equipment in an orderly manner on the table beside her. Then she had me lie down on my bed to put me and all my muscles at ease. She began loosening the tape in the area around the pick-line, in her ”Virginia” way, being conscious as always of her patient’s needs, making sure that I was comfortable and not tensed. After my arm was free of tape, she then started pulling the tubing out of my system. It was half way out and she felt it snag, It was caught inside my vein, stuck at my shoulder curve, I could feel it, causing me minimal discomfort. She immediately called the I.V. specialist, through the nurse button, never leaving my side. It took a few minutes, but Virginia was calm through it all, keeping her poise and her patient calm (Me) , explaining that if she just pulled it might cause damage to my system.
The I.V. specialist walked in the door asking Virginia what the trouble was. Explaining calmly she then asked for instructions about what to do. Hot compresses were applied hoping that the heat would help relax whatever was holding it in place. That did not work. A bit of anger grew in me, listening to the specialist say that for the 15 years that she had been an I.V. specialist, this had only happened once and it was easily solved with hot compresses. The next suggestion was to call the hospital and ask them what to do. This would take a while, so Virginia rolled up the tubing hanging from my arm and taped it to my arm once again.
I waited as patiently as “I” could, it was three hours later when I got the scoop on what we were to do. “We have a list of five things we need to try, before we have to send you to the hospital. The hospital will be our last ditch effort,” Virginia said in her most congenial tone. “No,“ I said, abruptly, “we have six things to try. Number one is to pray.“
Our journey started with drinking hot liquids, while in a hot shower hoping that the water would massage my shoulder, loosening where the tube was caught. Also, Virginia was to hang a syringe full of water from the tubing in hopes of weighing down the tube so it might slide out on its own. By this time, I was steaming mad, mumbling under my breathe about how nothing can ever go the easy way for me and resigning myself to go to the hospital for approximately the 100th time in my life. I got all ready for my shower, sending my nurses aide for some cocoa.
Sitting in that stark pink shower room, that smelled of antiseptic and human feces, I was still fuming mad. Once again, Virginia cascaded in, in her usual elegance and poise, bringing with her a cup of cocoa and the syringe full of water. She explained that the syringe has warm water in it and she is going to flush the tubing with it before I start my shower. Looking me in the eye she said, “Did you want to pray?” In my frustration I was praying, but only half-heartedly and when she said this it startled me back to reality that, 'the Lord’s in charge.' Answering her I said, “I’ve already prayed, but I’d like to pray with you.” We bowed our heads and prayed out-loud, together this time. Shocking the aide as she walked in, not only with me sitting there in all my glory, this she expected, but to enter a shower room with vociferous praying and heads bowed. The aide bowed her head in respect and joined our strange, little prayer circle. When the praying ceased the aide left the room. Virginia flushed the warm water through the tubing and it slid out of my arm.
I started boisterously praising the Lord, while Virginia with a grin as big as the Cheshire cat, put pressure on the hole and taped a bandage on it
In my exhilaration, I just went back to the wild, outspoken, jokester that the nursing facility had gotten to know, and went to the dining room to tease all the nurses aides, not letting my concerned family know what had happened.
Fifteen minutes later, a call was taken at the nurses station for me, it was my attentive sister, Glory trying to find out what was happening. When I was satisfied that I had razzed the aides enough I headed back to my room. Passing the nurses station on my way, Virginia told me my sister had called and I should call her back. When I got to my room I nonchalantly called Glory thinking I would be the bearer of the good news. She answered the phone finding me on the other end she said, “I heard you got the tubing out of your arm. Virginia said it was achieved with warm water and prayer, and she knows it was the prayer.” I sat there stunned, not truly realizing until that moment God does answer MY prayers and how much He cares for this wild, rollicking jokester.
Thank you Lord for loving each and everyone of us, no matter how little our faith can be sometimes.
Pray without ceasing.
1 Thessalonians 5:17
I am blessed
Merrym Dawn Mathis Bruce
