My father died 15 years ago, but he lives on through his many sayings that, as I age, take on a new meaning.
One of them was, “Son, I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Then he would laugh, and I would, of course, join in with his laughter. Although I was laughing, I didn’t get the punch line.
In the hospital recently, I thought about my dad’s words. And believe me, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of the hospital.
Each morning, I’d ask if I was going home today. It was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. Is today the day?
The staff always replied, “No, I don’t believe you’ll be going home today. Maybe tomorrow.”
Every day, I had nurses coming in with their favorite instrument, the needle, to give me shots. Pain is something that’s not one of my friends. Those needles in the hands of those nurses created pain.
On the first day, when one of the nurses came in to give me my first shot, she said, “There’s no need to worry. This won’t hurt any.” Then she smiled at me, a smile I’ll never forget.
To this day, I don’t know what she understood pain to be. But that very first shot in my stomach was painful, according to my definition.
After I gasped, the nurse said, “See, that didn’t hurt at all, did it?”
I smiled and said, “I didn’t feel a thing.” She smiled back at me most wonderfully.
After the third day of being stuck with needle after needle, I leaned back in my bed and thought a lot about those needles. Then, a thought came to mind. What that nurse held in her hand as she entered my room was “A Needle Named Miss Ouch.”
Every time I got a shot in my stomach, the nurse always looked at me, smiled, and said, “This isn’t going to hurt.”
Of course, it’s not going to hurt her. The hurt is on my side of the needle.
As I was recovering from the last shot from Miss Ouch, I began to rethink this whole matter. Was it really the needle causing me pain?
Would the needle pierce my stomach if it wasn’t for the nurse? The pain isn’t a result of the needle but rather a result of the nurse. She’s the source of my pain.
That caused me to think a little bit. Because the nurse was in control of the needle, it could be more or less painful, and I tried to make sure that it was going to be less painful.
I tried to smile cheerfully at my nurse and not let her know I was in pain. I didn’t want to upset her because an upset nurse can cause more pain through the needle.
Resting in my bed a bit later, a verse of Scripture came to mind.
“My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”
— James 1: 2-3
With the needle came pain, but also, the medicine I need. Through pain comes my medical solution.
Dr. Snyder is a former pastor who lives with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage, wife Martha, in Ocala, Fla. His email is [email protected]
