We
Can Help Others
Praise
be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and
the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can
comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. –
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
God never wastes a
hurt. I’ve heard that said so many times but I don’t think I ever truly
understood until now. When we give our hurts to God, He uses them and us to
comfort and guide others.
I always thought I
understood what being a caregiver was all about. I didn’t have a clue. I slid
into the role without fully realizing what was coming. It’s a good thing. I’m
not sure I could have done it if I’d known the heartache that was to come.
I’ve learned medical
terminology and how to operate the machine that dispenses IV fluids. I have
learned about medical directives and hard waiting room chairs and the fatigue
of day after day without leaving the hospital. In other words, I get it.
People turn to me even
as I pull back from offering an opinion or advice. The hard truth is that experience
has taught me what questions to ask. I know when to panic and when to just let
it go. I know about surrendering a hopeless situation to God. I understand
about letting go.
Compassion is hard won
in the game of life. We learn to ache with others because we have felt their
pain. Some people have a natural empathy. Most of us try and fail. Until we’ve
walked the same road. Then we get it.
It’s true with family
and friends. It’s also true with medical personnel. There is a real difference
between a nurse who has known suffering and one who has only seen it. That
doesn’t mean they aren’t both kind. In a perfect world, they are. It simply
means that one will shed a tear with you because she truly understands.
Last year my cousin and
I traveled more than two hours away to see her critically ill daughter. The
hospital staff was among the best I’ve ever experienced. They asked my cousin
hard questions. They were kind. They were compassionate.
And when my cousin
couldn’t understand, when her heart couldn’t grasp the words, she looked to me.
I shared my journey and the words settled her. There’s something about someone
else walking your path and surviving that gives you hope that you, too, will
survive.
Another friend monitors
medications and keeps a daily record of blood pressure and insulin and weight.
It’s a routine most don’t understand. You can’t skip a day. Ever. Here’s an
example: If you gain four pounds overnight, you’ll probably get upset and vow
to eat better. If a heart patient gains four pounds overnight, it could signal
an impending cardiovascular crisis. Sudden weight gain is a major sign of
trouble in someone with Congestive Heart Failure.
People who’ve never
walked the path can’t grasp endless doctor appointments with the primary care physician and assorted
specialists. They can’t grasp the home health visits that can total seven or
more separate visits each week by different people. Everything has to be
coordinated by someone and that someone is you.
There are no words to describe
the moment you realize the person you love most will never go home again. All
you can do is cry and cling to someone who gets it, to someone who has been
there, to someone who truly understands your heartbreak.
I am grateful when I
can help someone else navigate this devastating journey. I wish I didn’t
understand but I do. God uses that hurt to help others, turning something awful
into something good.
