Called To Serve

I've had the title of this blog on my to-do list for a long time. When I had a free minute, I would look at it and just not be ready to write about it. I'm ready now.

When you are able to do something you love, actually change the outcome of a person's life, and serve the Lord at the same time, you have found your calling. I know I've blogged about this before, but it must be restated. I can honestly come home from a grueling day at work, of which I have surely complained, and still feel like I have served the Lord.

Like I said, I've been wanting to write this for a while, but today I had to. Today was one of those days where I felt the Lord working inside me. We have been so busy at work lately. With the economy in the toilet, more and more people are skipping out on preventative health care and are ending up in worse shape at our hospitals. That means we've been swamped. The volume of our adult caseload has increased at least 50% in the last two months alone. But, I digress...

I work for a non-profit Catholic hospital that serves patients from the minute they roll into the emergency room until they go home or die. Unfortunately, because I deal with swallowing, a lot of my patients die. At 25 years old, I check the obituaries every day looking for my patients; sometimes I cry when I find them. And it's hard.

Part of my job is explaining to families that their mom or dad will never eat safely again. "I'm sorry Mr. H, the swallowing study did not go well and your dad isn't safe to eat anything. If your dad does eat, it will go into his lungs and he will get pneumonia and die." I hate having to say those words to a family. Not only do I have to tell a family that their loved one can't eat safely anymore, I also have to tell them that they have a decision to make: let your family member continue eating with the understanding that it will kill them, or take away their only pleasure in life and keep them alive.

I think having to make the decision on whether or not to let a family member continue eating is even harder than making the decision to pull the plug. When a family decides to pull the plug, the disease process is final, their loved one's body is gone, and the grieving process can begin. When a family has to decide whether or not to let mom or dad continue eating, the consequences can result in a slow, yet dignified death or in a prolonged state of limbo. I tell my patients and families: "There is no wrong decision in this situation and I understand the consequences of both choices you are faced with."

I hate having to say these words, but I know God is working through me when I speak them because I am able to communicate this message well. Today, such a situation happened. I had to tell my patient's only son that his father would never eat safely again. I had to tell him that he had to decide what to do when his father asked to eat. I had to tell the son in the gentlest way possible, that his dad wanted to eat and it was time to let his father go.

I don't do my job for compliments, but people tell me, after witnessing the above conversations, that I do a very good job at presenting this information in a comforting, Christian way. That's how I know the Lord is working through me.

As I type these words, I can't help but cry. I cry for my patient, knowing that he will leave this earth soon. I cry for my patient's son, knowing that he will be without his only living relative and that in the process he may have to make the hardest decisions of his life. I want to cry happy tears too, because soon my patient will suffer no longer and he will be with our Lord; but I don't think I'm there yet.

I'm sure having to say these words to patients and families will never get any easier. But that's ok. I know the Lord put me here to deliver this information with the utmost compassion and respect for life. I know I can do that; I know that's why I love what I do; and I know that's how I'm called to serve.

I'm Pathetic

Ugh, I feel so pathetic....I cried in physical therapy today. And I don't just mean a sniffle and a few tears, I mean full out hyperventilating water works. And, the best part....I work with all these people. Going into this surgery, I knew the recovery would be rough, but I didn't know it would be this rough. Case in point: I now use a crutch!

So, I went back to work on Monday and didn't use any type of assistive device; I just limped around. After work I went home and ended up falling in my house. Monday night was murder and I could barely get out of bed. So, I busted out the Pimp Cane.

I used the Pimp Cane for about half the day on Tuesday until another physical therapist offered to let me use a much cooler cane. Now, if your going to have to use a cane, it might as well be a cool one! So, out came the leopard print soft cane (pardon the picture...it doesn't do it justice!).

Well, I woke up Wednesday morning and reached for the leopard print cane and immediately dropped it....my hand hurt so bad! I actually bruised the palm of my hand putting all of my weight on the wooden handle of the pimp cane. And, to top it off, because I was using mostly my left leg to walk, I strained my calf muscle as well! I am just falling apart....

So, in physical therapy this afternoon, my physical therapist basically told me I really needed to be at home. Well, that's not happening. So, as a compromise, she issued me a forearm crutch. And boy, using it takes a lot of brain power!

Unfortunately, mine is not lime green. It is yellow and teal. We'll see what the consensus is at work tomorrow. Strangely, I've been getting called House lately....

Ok, enough venting for now. Thanks for all the support!