Our Father
The nervous energy is palpable the minute I walk into the
room. My task is simple. I just have to clean up a wound and be on my way. From
here, the antibiotics and the ICU would take care of the rest. Not a problem,
I’ve been here before. It is a quick procedure. “I am just going to clean up
the knee. Scrub up the wound. It won’t take long. Not much for me to do but
make it prettier.” Dad wanted details, wanted as much information as possible.
Wanted me to talk to some other doctor friends. I obliged and told them we had
nothing more surgically to offer and the ICU was treating the infection.
Patience, I asked for, just give it some time.
Who art in heaven
Dad is a pilot. I understand the personality. He is not in
control here. Too many alarms he does not understand, too many variables
outside of anyone’s control. I watch as this progresses and see him, frightened
and grasping for answers that don’t exist in our world. The physics and the
precise science of his world collide with the multifactorial variables of ours.
Here, science can only rule so much, we can’t control every encounter with
turbulence.
Hallowed be thy name
The hardest part of my day is stopping by the room. I have
explained to dad that I am only one part of the team and that what I have to
offer at this point is limited. I pray that the antibiotics work. I pray that
the infection is conquered, but I know that something more is at work here.
Thy kingdom come
We put him on bypass. His lungs failed. Riddled with
infection they could take no more. A strong, youthful heart, persistently
pounding and we used it to power our machine. Give him some time. Let the lungs
heal. Circulate the antibiotics and kill the infection. We watch him swell to
disfigurement. We watch him withdraw to the point of no pain, no tears, no
reactions. All the while, pictures of his healthy self stare down at us from
the decorated ICU room walls. How did he come to this?
Thy will be done
2am. No choices. His abdominal pressures are too high and
his kidneys have stopped working. Though he is anticoagulated, bleeding is no
longer a concern, death is. We have no choice. Expecting the worst, my team
rolls in for a bedside laparotomy in the ICU. We find destruction beyond our
expectations but we will fight on, we won’t give up.
On earth as it is in
heaven
Angels help us bring him to the OR. I have never seen such
teamwork. Everyone is fully invested. Everyone is there to give all they have
for one life, his life. Everyone is witness to the love in that room. Angels guide
us as we bring him back to the ICU. We have done our best and cleaned up the
damage. But we cannot do enough.
Give us this day our
daily bread
A reprieve. Nothing looks good but we can take a breath,
have a sleep, collect ourselves.
And forgive us our
trespasses
I can't help but cry. 12 years old. His room is plastered
with pictures of a healthy boy. Vibrant, alive, thriving. I think of my nieces,
my nephews, my friends' children and I cry. How is there a god who can do this?
How is there a god who can put a family through this torture? I cannot accept
it.
As we forgive those
who trespass against us
Dad is mad. At me. At God. At everyone. I will let him yell.
I will let him cry. I will answer every question, with a full heart and an
honest soul. I will cry in front of him. I will tell him the hard stuff. I will
explain the painful truth of body system after body system failing. I will tell
him his son isn’t suffering because I still believe in a merciful god. I will
tell him his son can hear him because I believe in a loving god. I will tell
him that I will fight as long as he wants me to fight. But I will admit, I am
losing.
Lead us not into
temptation
Now, as dad has relented, mom is certain of a miracle. It
will happen she says. I will be the vehicle, she believes. And I wish it were
so, but I know too much. I will go back. I will fight one more time.
But deliver us from
evil
I lose myself in the task. Break it down into its parts and
just keep working. Open, clean it out, stop the bleeding, remove the dead
tissue, dress the wound with the temporary closure … and then steal yourself to
tell the family there is no miracle today.
For thine is the kingdom
Everyone meets in a blank conference room. Frustrated
questions that hit like accusations are
thrown around. I cut to the chase and simply state the obvious “we have done
everything we can do. I cannot make this better” as I admit defeat, the most courageous
person in the room claims a victory. “My son is not going to make it here with
you, but he will make it, in a better place, with god.”
The power and the
glory
How can I stop the tears? I can’t. I cannot begin to
understand this courage. I cannot begin to understand this pain. I cannot begin
to imagine the emptiness in this father's heart.
Forever and ever
As I watch the family gather around his bedside, his dad
says the Lord’s prayer.
Amen.
1 comment:
This is beautifully written. I could not read without crying. I can always remember when dad said, "he will make it with God." This is something I can remember being right there with you and remembering how strong you were and are. Love you
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