A Hospital Visit

I've experienced a lot of physical pain in my life.  The joke amongst my friends while growing up was that I had my annual injury to complete before a year was truly over. But I had never felt pain like this before.  Yet my first thought after we were hit was not of my pain but of someone else.

I just came out of a few weeks being angry at God, not because He wasn't present or because of something that had happened in my life, but because of the state of His church.  Despite attending a Christian university I felt like the only difference was that we went to chapel three times a week...maybe.  I sat there in each of my classes confused, frustrated, and tired.  I had never yelled so much at God.  "Why?!" I would ask.  "WHY would you allow YOUR Church to become so damn DARK!"  I don't usually cuss, but in this context, in my anger, I deemed it completely appropriate.  After all, the Church I saw was acting no different than if they were damned to hell.

But then I go to a class discussing Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov".  One character, Father Zossima, mentions the importance of looking for the light in the dark.  He says that if we look for dark we will find it, but if we keep searching for the light we will discover that it is stronger and much more resilient than darkness.  After all, the stars shine through the dark sky every night despite being` millions of miles away.

Two days later I spend a glorious day with my four best friends.  The five of us--as we always call ourselves--received tickets to Disneyland, the happiest place on earth!  After a brief discussion between my roommate and me about who will drive, we decide she will this time and I would drive next time.  About an hour later, after meeting up and driving through a little traffic, the five of us arrive at Disneyland!

We get on the tram and I begin to feel a little sick, but I figure I'm just exhausted and that the feeling will go away once I start to move more.  Despite my optimism, my first stop is the restroom near Space Mountain where I expel the contents of my stomach.  This unhappy event completed, we go on some rides and enjoy some popcorn, which my stomach eventually decides I don't want after all and gives to a tree just inside the castle.  Thankfully the rest of the day goes wonderfully.  And these two incidents don't dampen my spirits at all.  In fact, I laugh about it.  I honestly think it is the funniest experience!  I just keep laughing and praising God for my friends.

With the image of the beautiful fireworks show in my head, we make our way back through the masses to the car and then to home.  We talk about how much fun the day has been and that we should do things like this more often.  As we turn onto campus I look up and notice we shouldn't be turning.  We are going to be hit.  No, I am going to be hit.

Silence.  Angels singing.  Peace.

The next moment I hear the crunch of metal as two cars attempt to defy the laws of physics and occupy the same place at the same time and, in what seems like half a second, I notice that the two people on the driver side are out of the car, my roommate is being yelled at by the other driver, and my friend behind me is stuck but ok.  I want to get out of the car.  That person needs to stop yelling at my friend!  They have absolutely no right to treat her like that.  But I blink and they are gone and a man in uniform is near my window telling me they are trying to get me out of the car, comforting me and saying they are doing everything they can and that I'll be more comfortable soon.  I can't process this information.  The car is just pressing in too hard and there are too many lights and people.

The next moment I'm in the ambulance feeling and hearing everything but seeing nothing.  One of my friends is telling me, "I'm right here with you.  We're going to the hospital.  I'll be with you the whole time."

Over what seems like a few minutes, but is most likely many hours, I get a X-ray, CT Scan, and, finally, after my friend yells at the nurses to help me with my pain, some morphine.  But everything is so fuzzy.  I'm so confused that I can't even say Psalm 23, so my friend and I work through it together, piecing together what we remember in an attempt to find peace.  I'm unsure if we got it right, but it is comforting to focus on something other than my pain as I lift myself on and off the X-ray and CT Scan tables.

As the CT Scan is finishing, I remember that something is wrong with my sheets.  They smell and are wet.  They need to be changed.  So I ask the technician to change my sheets.  "How long have I been laying in my own urine?" I wonder to myself.

At some point I ask my friend to call my mom.  For all I know she had already called her, but suddenly my mom was at my side talking with the nurse.

"You didn't check her blood pressure after she left the ambulance?!  Don't you dare give her anything else until we know what her blood pressure is!"

The nurse checks.  It's 60/33.  The normal range is 110-120/60-70.

"Morphine will lower her blood pressure.  She's in and out of consciousness as it is and you are going to give her something that will LOWER her blood pressure even more?!  Find something else NOW!  She'll be in a coma soon if you give her that!"

My mom is angry, that much I know, but I just want to sleep.  I hear the doctor explaining things to my mom, but I understand a few things like, "She may not make it" and "There may be extensive brain damage" and "She will never walk again." And always--always--qualified with "We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

I'm feeling a little stronger and look around to see where I am.  Something is different.  I realize I'm in an ambulance again and there is a man sitting next to me and talking.  Apparently I asked him a question because he seems to be talking to me and explaining something.  So I decide to talk with him.  Might as well.  I have no idea how long this ride is going to last.

But as I blink I suddenly find myself in a beautiful, big, bright, comfortable hospital room.  A nurse has been checking on me and apparently we are going to try to get the rest of the glass off me before I get too comfortable.  Why is there still glass on me?  The nurse and my mom carefully and gently try to wipe off any glass they find and then start picking out the bits that are stuck to my skin.  I realize I have scratches all over my hands and arms and that it all stings.

Then the pain hits me and all I want is relief.  I'm starting to realize that I've been in pain for hours, maybe even days.  I just want it to stop.  And it does.  A nurse slowly pushes the medicine into my IV and tells me to try to relax and sleep.  I have no choice as the warmth of the medicine seems to trickle down my body.  I slip off into a dreamless sleep.

When I wake I see friends coming in my room.  Their expressions range from solemn grimaces to forced smiles, but I'm so happy to see people I know!  We laugh and some of my friends--the nursing majors--look over my X-rays with my mom, intrigued by the location and extent of all seven fractures (we later found an eighth hairline fracture that was hidden by the swelling).  A nurse walks in to check on my vitals and I realize I know him.  We go to school together.  The shock on his face quickly turns to an awkward look.  I can tell he's thinking he needs to get out of the room.  Somehow, at some point, everybody is gone and it's just me and my mom again.

But all my thoughts fade away when my roommate who was driving and her parents walk in the room.  She brought me a white, fluffy teddy bear.  She asks me how I'm doing, but I can tell she is eyeing the door, ready to run as soon as things become too uncomfortable.  I try to work out in my mind why she would possibly want to run away but the exhaustion, pain, and drugs are making it so difficult.  And then it hits me.

"I don't blame you."  I tell her.  I have no idea what else to say but I know something must be said and I have to be the one to say it.

"What?"  The shock in her voice confirms my suspicion.  She thinks I hate her.  But how could I possibly hate her?  She starts telling me why I should blame her, saying that she should have turned, but her words don't make any sense to me, so I cut her off.

"It was an accident.  They happen."

She starts to cry--I think this might be the first time I've ever seen her cry--and then says the unthinkable, "I should be here!  Not you!"

"No!" The last thing in the world I want is for anyone else, much less her, to feel more pain than they already have.  "I don't blame you!  It's ok!"  I grab her hand and we hug for who knows how long.

I didn't understand the weight of that simple statement until I heard her tell the story from her side months later.  I couldn't imagine blaming her.  In my mind for about six months I believed myself to blame.  After all, she didn't realize we would be hit and I did.  I thought I should have said something.  But some of the wisest words anyone has ever said to me were: "It was an accident.  No one was in control.  Not you, not your roommate.  Accidents happen and that's ok."

In that situation, we both felt like we needed forgiveness and grace.  She needed it from someone else while I needed it from myself.  And through all the turmoil came a beautiful realization for me.  If I look for the dark in a situation, I will inevitably find it.  But if you look for the light, for love and grace and forgiveness, God will show Himself to you in His eternal glory and outshine the dark every single time.