Room to Grow

When I was growing up, my mother was a firm believer that you should buy clothes with "room to grow."  This meant that my clothes never fit at the beginning of the school year and sometimes not at the end of the school year, either.

At the beginning of my third grade year, my mother went out and bought me new shoes.  They were very nice, but they were big enough that they kept slipping off. 

At recess, we had a game of kick ball going.  When it was my turn, I ran up and viciously kicked the ball.  Unfortunately, my shoe traveled farther than the ball did, flying out and landing just past second base.

It was very embarrassing.

These days, I don't  buy my clothes with room to grow.  I achieved my adult height long ago and while I may get bigger around the waist, I would prefer to remain the same size.

At the same time, there are areas in my life where I hope I never stop growing -- in knowledge, in kindness, and in wisdom.  In love for God and love for those around me.

I'm afraid in a spiritual sense, it is all too easy to reach a place where we feel like we are good enough and become complacent.  There is little need for spiritual growth when you believe you have achieved everything you need to achieve.

I am afraid that there are lots of people who, having reached base camp at Mt. Everest never have a desire to climb higher.  Just being there is good enough for them.

At the same time, the giants for God did not become so overnight.  Day by day they experienced growth.  Through trials and tempests they struggled on, never complacent, never satisfied.

They were always looking for a closer walk with God and a deeper connection in prayer.

They always bought their spiritual clothes with a little room to grow.

That's how I want to live.

Surprises

I don’t like surprises. It is not astonishing, since in my business, they are almost always of a negative nature. They usually begin with a telephone call at 2 am and an apologetic, breathless nurse on the other end saying something like: “I’m sorry to bother you Dr. Waldron, but…” It all goes down hill from there.

A couple of years after I began practice, I remember one such event.

 

My patient Caesar had been in the hospital for four days and he was going to a nursing home. “Not long term.” I had assured him. He would only stay there long enough to get his strength back and then he would return to his own home.

Caesar was a cantankerous old man who had lived in the community for all of his 76 years. He experienced a small stroke and now had some residual weakness. Not a lot of weakness, but enough to keep him from going straight home.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon on my day off when I received the telephone call. The nurse on the other end was breathless. “Dr. Waldron, Mr. Campbell is not doing very well.” I grimaced internally. That statement could mean almost anything, but it was almost definitely bad. “What’s going on?” I asked.

“He’s breathing much harder and he can’t seem to catch his breath…”

I listened with half my mind, inwardly reviewing his medical problems. When the nurse finished speaking, I gave some orders. I finished by telling the nurse that I would be right in.

The nurse had been right about Caesar. He wasn’t doing very well. His breathing was labored and he was using his chest muscles to assist with every breath. As his labs and imaging results began to come back, the cause became much clearer. He had developed a pulmonary embolism.

A blood clot to the lungs in a young person is bad enough, but in a 76 year old with emphysema it is life threatening. I had the nurses call the family to come in.

Caesar’s only daughter arrived and I went over the situation with her. I asked her is she knew her father’s wishes about being ventilated. She shook her head. “I don’t think he does, but I’m not sure. Have you asked him?”

I hadn’t, so we went together to his bed. Caesar was laboring to breathe, but he was still alert. I explained the situation to him and asked if he wanted to be put on a ventilator. He shook his head no. “You understand that you will probably die if we don’t put you on the machine?” I asked.

Caesar nodded “I don’t… want… machine.” He gasped out.

I wrote orders to make him comfortable and to try to stop the clot, and then stood at the foot of his bed, feeling helpless. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Caesar was supposed to get well and go home. I had promised him as much.

Caesar’s daughter seemed to sense some of my helplessness, for she rose from her chair at Caesar’s bedside, and touched my arm. “It’s OK.” She said simply. “It’s what dad wants.”

She spoke the truth. He had not wanted a ventilator. As I stood there, I realized that I was feeling sorry, not for Caesar, but for myself. It is the nature of young physicians to believe that they can predict and control all in their patient’s lives. I felt distress for not having predicted this embolism and as I realized this, a kind of peace came to my life.

For, I learned what many physicians never learn. I learned that human life is hopelessly complex and that no one can completely understand it. I learned that the most important thing is to follow the patient’s wishes. Most of all, I learned that I am not God. Despite all of my efforts, some things cannot be controlled. There will always be surprises and that will not come as a surprise to me again.

Seeing the Light

As I was driving home from work last night, there were clouds everywhere.  The sky was a slate gray, with the sun hiding somewhere just above the western horizon.  Then, suddenly, for a brief moment the sun poked its head out, lighting up the edges of the clouds and turning the heavens all orange and pink.

As I looked at the beautiful sunset, I realized that the loveliest sunsets have clouds.  The sun sinking behind a ridge on a cloudless day is not nearly as breath taking as the sun shining through broken clouds.

It is the contrast between the clouds and the sun that lets us see and appreciate the beauty of the sun.  It is the darkness that makes us reach towards the light.  It is the sorrow of death that makes us hope for heaven.

I have found that this world is a very dark place.  There is anger and hatred.  Sadness abounds on every side.  I wonder how to explain this sort of a world to my children.

I cannot explain to them the evil that is around us.  I cannot understand it.  But it isn't important that they understand it.  It is far more important that they know that they are loved and in that love they can feel secure, whatever winds may blow.

It is in these sorts of times that I seek my Heavenly Father's face.  For, I cannot comprehend this world and its darkness.

As I stand before Him, God doesn't explain the mystery of the darkness to me.  He only shows to me His light and His love.  In that moment, I understand a little better who He is and how great His love is for me.

And that's enough.

The Road to Victory

The year was 1997.  I was the intern (first year resident) on the surgical service, taking calls from the Emergency Department and admitting patients through the night in downtown Dayton, Ohio.

It was a busy night.  Sometime, around 2 am, I got called to admit another patient for an oral surgeon we worked with.

The patient was an African American lying on a gurney, under the bright fluorescent lights of the ER.  His face was swollen and disfigured.  Every so often a faint moan escaped his lips.

From what I had been told by the ER doctor, he had been beaten up by someone using a forty ounce beer bottle (empty), when he was caught breaking into a garage.  He had several facial fractures and in the morning would get his jaw wired shut to allow healing.

At this moment, though, I had to get enough information from him to  dictate a History and Physical and get him up to the floor.

"So what brings you in tonight?"  I asked him pleasantly.  Kind of an obvious question, but at two a.m., you tend to fall back on the things your usually say.

"Mmmmph..." he told me and pointed at his face.

"OK," I said, jotting down: 'Presents with facial pain,' on a sheet of paper.  "What happened?"

"Mmmmmmmmmmmph," he said.  He could talk, but the sounds weren't clear enough for me to catch distinct words.

I tried again.  Again, I couldn't understand what he was saying.  At this point, an older nurse who was flushing an IV line looked over at me.  "He says he guesses he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I suppose he was right, although put that way, it sounds more like missing a bus, or a connecting flight, than breaking and entering.

Over the years, I have taken care of many people who I have 'caught' in wrong doing.  Most often, it is with them using street drugs.

Unfortunately, most, when they are confronted, try to minimize their problem or excuse it.  They don't really have a problem. 

And what I want to hear them say is:  "Dr. Waldron, I am struggling.  I am not in control.  I need your help."

That is definitely what God wants to hear from us.

Jesus told the Pharisees that he had come to heal the sick, because the well didn't need a physician.  It wasn't that the Pharisees didn't need help -- they needed healing just as much as everyone else in the crowd -- it was that they didn't think they needed help.

It is only those who do not believe they need help who are truly beyond help.

As we confess our sins and our weaknesses and seek the help of others, we can and will gain victory.  It may seem easier to deny wrong doing, but the road to victory begins with an honest confession.