More than Pill-Pushers: We are Hope-Bearers

She was mature beyond her years, but with a worldly awareness. She seemed sixteen, but was only twelve. She had endured far more in her short life than I had in double that time. And as I looked into her hard, cold, dismissive eyes I broke for her. Had she ever been loved? Not as the world loves, that kind of love that leaves holes. No, I wondered if she had ever been loved unconditionally and sacrificially. Probably not. She was in foster care and had run away more times than she could count. People who run away do not feel loved. 

(Deep breath.) I stepped into her room, placid smile painted on my face, and said, “Hi.” She rolled over… 

ok I thought, just a quick set of vitals, no talking. Good. I have all those meds to give in room fifteen anyways. Let’s just push through this as fast as possible. If I can get rounds done by 0830, I might have time to go get some breakfast.

My stomach growled as I glanced over at Sam, who was normally our tech. Today he was the sitter in the room, there to keep this patient from hurting herself. I raised my eyebrows at him with a shrug. I got his eye roll in response. Message received loud and clear. She apparently was a peach to be around. 

Great, I thought, I’ll have to just make this as quick as possible.

“Good morning Paige, my name is Hannah, I’m your nurse today,” I said. I think the silence actually reverberated in response.  As I walked closer and sanitized my hands, I went on telling her, “I’m going to get a set of vital signs and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Nothing. OK, I thought, stepping even closer and picking up the stethoscope hanging from her IV pole. I picked up her left arm and slid the blood pressure cuff up her arm and secured it in place, then pushed start on my dynamap. Temp swipe, done. Cap refill, good. Sats, perfect. Lungs, clear. 

As I counted her last heartbeat I asked, “Paige, would you like to order some breakfast?” 

“No,” she curtly responded as my stomach loudly growled.

“Ok, well, when you are ready to eat, just let Sam, here, know. They won’t bring you food unless you order.”

“Fine”

“Alight, call me if you need anything. I will come back and check on you a little later.”

Later that day I was called into Paige’s room to relieve her sitter for lunch. As soon as I stepped in the room and took Sam’s seat, Paige looked at me and declared she wanted a shower. He offered to stay and at least help change her linens, but knew he had been in that room for hours with no break. 

Besides, I thought, it wouldn’t be appropriate if Sam were in here anyway.

 I asked Sam to grab linens and bathing essentials. He quickly returns with those stiffly starched essentials, handed them to me, and turned on his heel to go. When he left, I started talking to Paige about how she was feeling. She sat up in her bed and surprised me by opening up and telling me that she hated her life, hated her foster family and wanted out. That is why she had overdosed. She was trying to escape. I asked her what she liked to do to have fun. She laughed and told me she loved to go clubbing and that she loved to have a good time. I quickly learned that Paige had tried it all. She was in the fast lane of life and she had no desire to slow down.  

Now that she had a willing listener, she tried to shock me by telling me of her most audacious exploits. Drugs, sex, friends, foster care, she coasted through the highlights, watching my face for my reaction. I gave her none. Little did she know that nursing had trained me to keep a straight face, even when I might be dying on the inside. And oh, how I was breaking for her right then. 

Due to my lack of expression, Paige quickly got bored and demanded to get in the shower. I reminded her that because she is on suicide watch I had to be in the bathroom with her. She rolled her eyes, striped and climbed in the shower. I stood next to the toilet in the increasingly shrinking bathroom. Man, this was always awkward. 

As I stood there, water sprinkling on the other side of a stiff, plastic curtain, my mind wandered. I thought of the Young Life girls that I was mentoring. I thought of the laughs and honesty we had shared. I thought of the gospel and wonder who would tell Paige about this God-Man, Jesus. I mean, how would she ever hear the gospel? I knew what her immediate future held. She would be transferred to a psych facility in the next few days, then be returned to foster care, likely with a new family. She would probably run away again and be trafficked again. As I stood there, I could not think of one more time in her fast-paced life that she could ever come in contact with the gospel again. 

And then a thought whispered into my head, quiet as steam rising from a cup, what if I told her about Jesus?

I can’t. I mean, I could lose my job for that. My thoughts warred within my mind as the water rained down just a foot away and steam slowly filled the bathroom. 

Over and over in my mind, the same thought ran around and around, like a hamster on a wheel: She needs to hear about Jesus. My heart beat quickened to a gallop in both anticipation and fear.

Deep Breath. Inhale, Exhale.

Conscious that this was probably the most unsuitable place to tell anyone about Jesus, I blurted out, “Paige, has anyone ever told you that you aren’t here by accident? That you are important and valuable?”

“No,” she said slowly, probably annoyed that I was intruding in her one moment of privacy.

“Well,” I spoke to the curtain that shuddered as water splashed against it, 

“you are. You are beautiful and God made you on purpose because he has a plan and a future for you.”

Silence

I chose to take her silence as permission to continue and proceeded to tell her about how Jesus saved me and gave me a hope and an escape from the rage I was drowning in at 13. It all came tumbling out.

The next thing I knew she was crying. The body-racking sob, ugly face kind of crying. It was like a dam had broken and she was crying out all of her hurt and rage. 

When her sobs start to slow, I quietly asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” She said as I heard the shower faucet squeak and the water stop. 

“Do you want me to stop talking?” I asked as I passed a rough, white towel around the curtain, eyes focused on the floor.

“No. No one has ever loved me like that.” She responds as she grabbed the towel from my hand. 

“Oh Paige, I love you and think you’re beautiful. But more importantly, God loves you. He loved you when he made you and he loves you now, even knowing everything you’ve done.”

That stiff curtain scraped open and she emerged towel wrapped tightly around her small frame. I saw that tears were running down her face, but I sensed her hard exterior was in the process of crumbling. 

Smiling tentatively, I said, “You know you have a choice. You can choose to believe Jesus gave up his life and died for you. You can choose to give your heart to him. You can choose to love him back. He is the family and friend who will never leave you, never let you down.”

Sobbing again she croaked, “yes. I want that.”

And so right there, as she huddled under a tiny, stiff, hospital towel Paige chose Jesus. She prayed and asked Jesus to be a part of her life. 

A while later, after Paige was changed and settled back in bed, Sam re-installed in his protective role, and promises made to come back after I made another set of rounds, I walked out of her room and closed the door behind me. Nothing in the world had changed, yet everything had changed, for both Paige and myself. Like a lightbulb turning on in my head I realized that Jesus had a place in my patient care. He knew Paige was ready and needed to be presented with the gospel. I never would have imagined that out of all my many patients, she would be the one to choose Jesus. 

Suddenly, the possibilities of God seemed endless, my career took on a fuller purpose. I finally realized, I was called to be a nurse, not for myself, but for those who need Jesus. 

The names and identifiers have been removed changed to maintain the privacy of those in this true story.