More than this

July 14, 2016

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“I don’t consider [talking with you right now] as quality time; this is just time, because it’s the most important thing. It’s THE priority. It’s more than quality time.

It was humid outside and the pulsing lightning illuminated the angry clouds in the distance behind him. It’s a very odd thing, having someone you admire sit in your passenger seat telling you about his past relationships, drinking bubble tea. We were comfortable, and that to me in itself was foreign and strange. I didn’t know what I was feeling.

He shared things with me that he’d “never told/tell any girl before” and I told him a story about one of the hardest, most pivotal times in my life. In that intimate space the defenses were down. Any question was free game. And we carried on like that for 3 hours, laughing, discussing, asking, and learning. From trivial to personal, lighthearted to heavy, we shared ourselves. He wasn’t so distant anymore and I wasn’t so scared. I could be me and that’d be okay with him.

Although from our conversation I felt he didn’t and doesn’t reciprocate, that time became something more. It’s like someone hit a pause button on my feelings and I could just enjoy his company. No hoping, no second-guessing, no wondering. He’s a non-competitive inhibitor, which may be the best way I can describe it all.

I’m still on pause until something sets it back into motion (to continue on or go another way), but last night will be a happy memory no matter what happens.

“There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

 

 

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Debrief

July 5, 2016

“MSET, north patient tower, seven twenty six; MSET, north patient tower, seven twenty six; MSET, north patient tower, seven twenty six.”

The room was crowded. The crash cart, our nurses, the tech, the unit director who happened to be visiting that day, and the rapid response team were all huddled over the patient. The director, in his expensive suit covered by the garish yellow isolation gown, was searching for a pulse and poised to begin chest compressions. Amidst the general frenzy and the instructions being barked there was a profound couple of seconds of silence as we all came to realize there was no pulse. The nurse in charge had at some point notified the team of the patient’s advance directive which dictates that we cannot attempt resuscitation. It was anticlimactic in a way; all the adrenaline racing through and fueling an effort we could not pursue. Soon the room was emptied until it was just the lifeless body of the patient covered with a sheet and the bleary-eyed charge nurse restoring the crash cart.

All I could think was, “God, I wish I could have been a part of that…”, and I was, but not in a significant way–I was still a neonate (not even a fledgling) in my teal as I stared at the crimson and white of the professionals.

But I think there could not have been a more pertinent display of the nature of God imparted to man. There were so many people rushing to save one life, so much effort. When one patient begins crashing or we are anticipating the reception of a critical patient, the entire hospital is notified. If He had not put this noble nature in us there would not be a health profession; that there exist careers dedicated to saving lives is evident of the [com]passionate love of Christ. The very instinct to preserve and protect a life is not human, no matter how good a person we as individuals may think we are.

Does anyone else have a relationship with someone where you frequently think, “Please, let me explain! This isn’t who you think I am–if you got to know me you’d understand.”

Because words are imperfect. You are imperfect. You’re a work in progress.