Prayer

I always have to pause before I go into Debbie's room.  She is not one of the old old, but is probably closer to my age.  She is bright and loves to talk.  And talk. The barrage of words often drains me.  She is no longer mobile, except in a wheelchair, and I seldom see her out of her room.  She has a roommate named Betty. Betty is sometimes asleep when I arrive, but she and I have also often talked.  I know she has rheumatoid arthritis, is bedridden, and is often in pain. 

When I stepped off the elevator, I was surprised to see Debbie sitting by the nurses' station engaged in earnest conversation.  She looks up and sees me. "Oh, Sue Ann, can you help? Would you go see Betty? She is screaming."  I understand Betty does this a lot, especially in the middle of the night.  I am not sure how Debbie handles it.  However, I know Betty knows me, so I reply, "Yes, I will go."  

She is indeed yelling.  I walk over to her and place my hand on her arm. "Betty, it is Rev. Sue Ann. I am so sorry you are in pain." I begin to stroke her soft arm, and Betty expresses her frustration that no one has come to her.  I continue to softly talk to her, and knowing she is Catholic, I ask if she would like a prayer.  "No. It never works." Debbie gasps, and Betty's voice grows louder.  "Where are they?" Debbie tries to assure her that a nurse was enroute.  

 I try a simple breath meditation with Betty, and it works surprisingly quickly. Her breathing slows and she begins to grow quiet.  Debbie grabs a clean pillow case and wheels into the bathroom to run hot water over it. She squeezes it out and hands it to me in a plastic bag. I ask Betty where she would like the warm cloth applied.  She indicates her neck.  I place it and continue to encourage her to breathe in God's love and breathe out the pain.  She asks me to place my hand back on her arm.  

I keep the meditation going, and I do add a prayer. Both of them grow very quiet, and Betty falls asleep.  I quietly tell Debbie I have one more call to make so I need to go. She wants to go back down the hall with me.   

As we make that journey, we move slowly. She tells me again about her grandchildren. However, despite the repetition, I recognize that my journey with Debbie has been enhanced. Every person we meet she calls  by name. Some I knew, but not as intimately as she does.  "Bruce, hello, how are you doing?"  Bruce does not respond.  She whispers, "I think he recently had a stroke."  She asks John how his leg is.  He replies, "Not well," and gives some more details. She speaks to Angie, who is cleaning rooms, and asks about her children, and says hello to Mary who is distributing medications.  She greets everyone by name and knows something about them. We talk a little more about Betty and her frustrations.  

As we say our good-byes, I encourage Debbie to continuing being the light.  She encourages me to continue to use my voice. We both agree to keep going.

 I assume the nurse did arrive.