Life can be so
cruel yet I’ve come to realize that I am the cruelest one in it; my own
expectations are unrealistic and completely unreachable yet I still gruesomely
strain to attain these very things—but why? I fight against God even though I
know for a fact His plans are far beyond my own feeble comprehension—why? The
only person on this earth I can trust is the very One I most often neglect and
fight against—why? Because debilitating fear has
overtaken me—heartlessly wringing my neck out like a dish rag and leaving me
helplessly gasping for breath. No, this most certainly does not sound pleasant
and indeed, it is not—yet its reality. As I face two seemingly insurmountable
mountains, exposing to the world the abominable wounds inflicted upon my
fragile soul, I ask God why He would ask such a thing of me. Battling through
the pain once was enough to
incapacitate me but now I have to face head on the past I NEVER want to relive, nonetheless share—yet God has called me to do
this very thing. Anger and resentment overtake me even though I hate their
volatile presence, yet it reminds me of the pain that was real and in fact
withstood. The hardest battle I’ve been facing is the battle to forgive myself
and accept the overflowing grace momentarily bestowed upon my imperfect being.
I know the unthinkable things I’ve done—the pain I once inflicted upon myself—and
no amount of grace seems big enough to cover these abysmal scars. What
frustrates me most is seeing the emotional and psychological abuse of which
undoubtedly wounded me most still being inflicted upon those absolutely
undeserving; the pain I put myself through was merely done in attempts to numb
the heartless wounds inflicted upon me.
A part of me has
been resisting God, as well, because of a big old B overtaking my GPA I’ve
strained so hard to maintain; behind this B, however, I envision the dying girl
hopelessly lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to countless wires and tubes
keeping her alive: I was once this
very girl and the past mercilessly haunts me as I now approach the other
end—the one hooking up the dying to countless wires and tubes keeping them
alive. I recall all too well the innumerable student nurses who remained in
charge of my care, despite the fact I hated every minute of it. Now the tables
have turned, leaving me at the distributing rather than receiving end, which
scares me to death.
This morning, as I
put on my whiter than snow (literally) Kent State scrubs, it all seemed like a
dream (although my vanishing bank account knew elsewise): too good to be true.
Why would God love me, an undeniably imperfect being, enough to distribute such
blessings? My life literally seems to be a blur, both past and present, and
sometimes I have to pinch myself to bring me back to the reality staring me
straight in the face. As I prepared last night for my very first patient,
flashbacks came racing into my mind, mercilessly piercing each delicate
crevice; I remember all too well the feeling from the patient’s end and my mind
cannot and very well may never fully
wrap itself around the reality of a past I have survived with relentless
determination. I am so humbled yet
exceedingly grateful to call this story my own. As I put the finishing touches
on my outfit at six o’ clock this morning, envisioning the absolutely dying
teenager desperately grasping onto what was left of life, the passion within me
was revived—a passion and confidence not my own. Upon arriving at the hospital this snowy morning, I realized that no longer was I the patient but
instead the one responsible—the professional (weird, right?!). The lobby was
filled with crisp white uniforms and stethoscopes both bright and dull,
disguising the anxiety churning within each student nurse. As we journeyed
through the foreign hospital, eliciting stares everywhere we went, a glimpse of
the future was within sight—a lifetime committed to nursing. After receiving
the “low down” on my patient, I knew God had something great in store—a predestined
future awaiting me. After receiving devastating news merely hours before I
arrived, my assigned patient was low in spirits, so to speak, and in need of a
glimpse of hope, no matter how small. When introducing myself to her, I
instantly knew our paths crossed for a reason and I only hope I left her with
even but a speck of hope. As I allowed her to unload the fresh wounds bottling
up within, God took over and undeniable optimism transformed her once lifeless
face; my heart has never been happier and more satisfied than when it is doing
what it was made for: to serve. Getting
the patients needed supplies; dragging the IV pump behind the patient as she
merely tried to walk (I remember this all too well amidst my countless hospital
admissions) to the bathroom; holding her gown as she lost control, so to speak;
assessing her from head to toe and removing a bothersome bandage left on for
weeks too many; comforting her to the best of my incompetent ability and
willingly doing anything else I could, was the exact remedy my wounded heart
required, absolutely satisfying my soul. Nursing is nothing like I envisioned
and I cannot even begin to put into words the incomprehensible experience;
truly no words can do justice the feeling of saving lives and advocating life.
My day may have been exhausting as well as undeniably intimidating (reporting
off to a licensed professional nurse is not exactly right up my alley), but it
was far beyond beautiful, leaving me on pins and needles to do it again next
week! The day has finally arrived to step foot onto the hospital floor as a
professional rather than helpless patient and I could never be more grateful!
God specializes in miracles, that’s for sure!
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