Hair Ties and Hospital Rooms
I hastily packed my carry-on bag and prepared to fly out the next morning. All day long, details had unfolded, and our suspicions became reality. My dad had suffered a stroke. The trauma and swelling in his brain made him very confused and disoriented. Dad is 75 years old, six feet tall, and with fifty plus years in construction, strong as an ox. This made him a difficult patient to contain in his confusion. Anyone who knows my dad, knows that he is normally a kind and gentle soul. He is quick to make conversation with anyone, always hoping to share a smile with a joke or some teasing. But now, his meek and kind demeanor was buried under confusion and frustration.
The next morning, I boarded my one-way flight from Houston to go help. My brother had the weight of running the family business on his shoulders, and my mom needed care and support as well. Dad needed constant monitoring. As anyone who has found themselves in a caregiving role knows, it was exhausting. Channel 70 had old westerns on it, but it would only hold his attention for a few minutes. Medications were used intermittently to help him rest, but those, too, didn’t seem to last more than a few hours. The emotional and physical exhaustion quickly set in for all of us. We couldn’t even get him calm or still enough to do the essential MRI that would show the extent of the damage and establish a treatment plan. Two failed attempts left the staff and us exhausted and discouraged, and the doctors stalled in moving ahead with a treatment plan.
As day 4 dragged on, my hastily packed bag showed itself lacking for the situation at hand. One night, I was desperate for an elastic tie to get my dirty hair, days overdue for a wash, up and contained. I searched my carry on and my purse but came up empty handed. I opened the door to visit the ice machine while dad was dozing. My eyes glanced at the floor, and just outside the room in the hallway, I saw a black elastic tie on the ground. I smiled. Thank you, Lord.
Somewhere around two in the morning, it seemed like I might be able to get a couple of hours rest in the fold out bed. The sad pillow was made softer by my winter coat wadded up under my head. I pulled the thin, coarse, hospital blanket up to my chin and tried to make friends with hospital smell inches from my nose. I had forgotten my AirPods and needed to be able to hear dad anyway. I laid there miserable, hearing every muffled conversation from the hallway. The Oklahoma wind whistled outside the 5th floor window above the couch. I heard patient doors open and close, and the medication cart passing in the hall. Suddenly, the thought popped into my head that there was an ear plug in my coat pocket. DID I have an ear plug in my jacket pocket? And WHY was it there? And HOW did I KNOW that? I was desperate enough to sit up and rummage through the pockets of my wadded-up coat and sure enough . . . a single orange ear plug was alone in my coat pocket. I smiled in disbelief, and shoved it into my upright ear to muffle the distant noise, but it didn’t prohibit me from hearing dad rustle around if I needed to attend to him. Thank you, Lord.
One particularly heartbreaking night, the staff needed to restrain my dad to keep him safe. He was at great risk of falling, and none of the medications or interventions had worked. As a nurse, I have been a part of making this decision for other patients, and I know it’s never made lightly. I stepped back and let the staff do what they needed. The charge nurse gently patted me on the shoulder and asked if I was ok. I nodded my head yes, as tears streamed down my face. Before the night shift nurse went off, she came in again to check on my dad, and asked if I wanted a fresh pot of coffee. Tears stung my eyes as I replied to her, “That sounds wonderful.”
The extreme fatigue and emotional trauma of the situation left me unable to obsessively plan ahead as I normally do. I, like many of you, direct traffic for my busy family, telling everyone where we need to be and when and then making it happen. The new circumstances demanded that I have my heart and head in the boundaries of each hour of each day. The words of Matthew 6:34 were an undeniable truth I was experiencing: “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” This season of trial for me and my family reinforced what we have always known about God and His character, but instead of knowing it, we were experiencing it. His kindness and provision are consistent. His faithfulness is declared throughout Scripture. He directs our paths and has plans for us, yet also cares for the intimate details and smallest concerns of our lives. He truly does know the hairs on our head, what burdens our hearts and what gives us the greatest joy. In seasons of challenge, we can be assured that He will provide and minister to us personally, for our good and His glory. When life isn’t slowed to a halt because of an earth-shattering incident, we often miss the tiny, profound ways His sweetness and provision manifest in our everyday lives. For me it was in the dead of night when I just wanted a few hours of sleep amid exhaustion, contain my unwashed hair in a ponytail, or receive a fresh cup of coffee in the early morning hours after a long night.
What is your need? What is the cry of your heart? Where do you ache? What is making you sad or fearful or joyful in this moment? Look for His hand of provision, even in the smallest of ways. Acknowledge it and receive it with gratitude. He will not fail you. He will not leave you without what you need. You will find Him faithful, wherever You are and with whatever need. For me, a hospital room full of heaviness and fear, become a holy place of provision, and when I could nothing else, I could see His hand of care. It comes ultimately in the form of His presence and comfort, but also in what He provides . . . even in things like ear plugs and hair ties.
