The Other Side of the Bedside

I had a learning experience this week. But before I get into that, let me first thank everyone who visited me in the hospital (or tried to), everyone who prayed, and everyone who left sympathetic or concerned comments on my Facebook page. I appreciate your love and concern. I’m starting to feel a little better, but I’m still waiting to find out what has caused this terrible rash and how to make it go away for good.

Anyway, back to my learning experience. As far as I can remember, this is the first time I have spent an extended time in the hospital since I was in third grade, and it was enlightening to see the experience from the bed instead of the bedside. I learned, among other things, that when you’re in the hospital, you don’t always want visitors. Sometimes you just want to be left alone. Mind you, I was happy to see everyone who dropped by, but there were times when I was glad to have my (relative) solitude. Following the example of my pastor friend Mark Johnson, who came to see me on Wednesday morning, in the future I will try to call ahead to see if a patient is up for a visit from me instead of just popping in.

I also learned what a pain, both figurative and literal, it is to find yourself at the mercy of doctors and nurses and other medical professionals at all hours of the day and night. I lost count of how many rounds of IV antibiotics I received, how many times they came to draw blood, and how many times I had my vital signs checked (and had to give my name and birthdate) during my three days there. I remember precisely, however, the number of shots I received in my abdomen—three, and always very early in the morning—which I adamantly do not recommend, and the number of tries it took to find a suitable vein for my IV port—also three, and they finally had to bring in the ultrasound machine to find one. I have had enough of needles for a while.

I learned that it’s a trial to be tethered to an IV or otherwise unable to get up and move around when I wanted. I was lucky enough to be pretty mobile, so unless the IV was hooked up I could get up and go to the bathroom or whatever I needed to do without too much trouble. But there is something humiliating about having to ask permission to relieve yourself. I learned that one of the things you surrender when you go into the hospital is a healthy chunk of your dignity.

More learning: I can’t speak for any other hospitals in the area, but the staff—especially the nurses—at Reading Hospital are top-notch. They were invariably friendly and compassionate, and they usually laughed at my jokes, which anyone can tell you is a great way to get on my good side. I was grateful again for the life and work of Dixie Warmkessel and others like her who dedicated their lives to train generations of nurses. I was the beneficiary of their good work. It can’t be easy to provide quality care to a group of people who would really rather be anywhere else, and, as hard as it is to receive a shot in the belly, I can see that it might also be difficult to administer one.

I am grateful for the care I received at Reading Hospital this week, and I hope that the things I experienced and learned during my stay will make me a better pastor, now that I have seen the experience from the other side of the bedside.

Grace and peace,
bob