A Salute to Our Nurses, During National Nurse's Week
From: JaaJoe.com
When one lives in the Midwest, the weather that you encounter on
Easter Sunday each year tends to vary drastically. This variation is,
of course, partly due to Easter's temperamental adherence to the lunar
calendar and it's resulting random-seeming hopping from date to date
on our solar calendar. But in the Midwest one also encounters great
variability in weather patterns during March and April. I recall one
year in which my son's Easter egg hunt was carried out in the middle
of a snow storm =96 hardly the type of weather that comes to mind when
one thinks of Easter.
In stark contrast to that white Easter of which no one dreams was the
Easter Sunday in 1986. The day was sunny with just a smattering of
lofty, white clouds. The temperature hovered in the seventies and
there was a light breeze blowing. It was an Easter Sunday of a kind
that we wish all Easter Sundays to be =96 a day perfectly prepared for
the wearing of newly-purchased Spring outfits to church and for the
consumption of chocolate bunnies without too much attending melted
mess.
With the backdrop of the latest edition of God's annual creation of
Spring, I held in my arms His latest creation, my daughter, Natalie.
She had been born just a few hours prior, and as I looked at her
through tear-clouded eyes, I marveled at her beauty. Twenty-two years
later, my recollection of that emotion-filled day still centers on her
perfect button-nose. Natalie was perfect in every aspect save the most
critical: she was not alive. Natalie was stillborn.
When my wife was in her eighth month of pregnancy, she had noticed a
decrease in activity on the part of the baby, prompting an unscheduled
trip to the doctor. The doctor was only able to confirm that our
daughter had already passed from this earth prior to ever having
opened her eyes upon it. Some days later, my wife went into labor, and
Natalie was born on that beautiful Easter day.
Immediately after the delivery of our daughter, I had one overwhelming
desire: run. I wanted to run to the place that was farthest removed
from that hospital. Childishly, I wanted to immediately leave the
place that Iociated with soul-piercing sadness. And the last thing
that I wanted to do was to see my daughter. There was no clear-cut
reason in my emotion-clouded mind for my desire to avoid looking at
her, but I think that somewhere there lurked a thought that she would
be somehow physically deformed.
But shortly after the birth, an angel of mercy entered my life. I do
not know the angel's name. Every time that I looked at the angel, my
vision was blurred by tears, so I really can not remember what she
looked like. The only thing that I know for certain is that the angel
was employed as a nurse in the labor and delivery department at
Lutheran Hospital.
With kindness and with wisdom that could only have been gained through
years of training and experience, that nurse explained to me that she
was absolutely certain that I not only needed to see my daughter, but
that I needed to hold her. I can not remember exactly what the nurse
said, but her patience and determination eventually convinced me.
When I look back upon the few moments that I was allowed to spend with
my daughter here on this earth, there is still a sadness that will
always be there. But my memories of Natalie are now better described
as a tinge of sadness with an overwhelming fondness. If that angel of
a nurse had not convinced me to hold Natalie, I would never have been
able to develop a fondness for that button-nose, and I would be left
with only sadness.
On the occasion of this week, May 6th through the 12th, which is
National Nurses Week, I take this opportunity to thank all of our hard-
working nurses who each day are confronted with circumstances such as
I just described, and who with wisdom, patience, understanding,
kindness, and back-breaking work, care for those of us who need their
care so badly. And thanks so much to my angel, whoever and where ever
you are.
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