By Dr. James L. Snyder
My father has been gone for 15 years. It hardly seems that long, but time goes by, and you can’t stop it.
One of my father’s “jokes” 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 did not get the punch line.
I may be getting a little closer to understanding that joke, but believe me, I’m not laughing.
In the hospital recently, I thought about my dad’s “joke.” And believe me, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of the hospital. I think I was there for four days and four nights, but I can’t be too sure.
One thing I learned during my time in the hospital was how important nurses and the nursing staff are. Everything I needed was at their disposal, and all I had to do was ask—and sometimes, I didn’t even have to ask.
I had about six nurses in my room daily, including nursing staff and technical nurses. They were cheerful and encouraging, and I enjoyed getting to know them.
I was, however, very anxious to leave the hospital and go home. I didn’t have anything against the hospital staff; I just wanted to go home. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired in the hospital.
Every morning, I would ask one of the staff 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.”
Well, everybody knows that tomorrow never comes. And I was sorry to hang around in this atmosphere much longer.
Every day, I had nurses coming in with their favorite instrument, the needle, to give me my shots for the day. I’m not sure I counted right, but I think I had at least 10 shots daily. Even now, my stomach is still black from all of the needles poked in my stomach. I’m not sure what the needles in the stomach were for, but they were there.
Pain is something that is not one of my friends. I don’t like pain. Those needles in the hands of those nurses created pain in this body of mine.
On the first day, when one of the nurses came in to give me my first needle shot, she said, “There’s no need to worry. This will not hurt in any way.” Then she smiled at me, a smile I’ll never forget until I’m in my coffin.
To this day, I do not know what she understood pain to be. But that very first needle shot in my stomach was painful, according to my definition of pain.
After I gasped most hurtful, the nurse said, “See, that didn’t hurt, did it?”
Since this nurse with the needle in hand was female, I responded to her as I would to my wife. I smiled and said, “I didn’t feel a thing.” She smiled back at me most wonderfully.
That was just the beginning.
Every time the nurse came into my room, I froze in expectation of pain. I tried to hide behind a pseudo-smile so the nurse would think I wasn’t in pain.
After the third day of being stuck with needle after needle after needle, I leaned back in my bed and thought a lot about those needles. Then, a thought came to my mind. What that nurse held in her hand as she entered my room was “A Needle Named Miss Ouch.”
Every time I looked at Miss Ouch, my body froze in expectation of pain.
Those needles were causing me a lot of pain, and I wanted to do something to get rid of every needle in the hospital. It was those needles causing me pain.
Every time I got a needle 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. Doesn’t she understand that the hurt is on my side of the needle, not hers?
As I was recovering from the last shot from Miss Ouch, I began to rethink this whole matter. Was it really that needle causing me pain? I thought about that for a while.
Then, my thinking went in the direction of the nurse. Would the needle pierce my stomach if it was not for the nurse? The pain is not a result of the needle but rather a result of the nurse. She is 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 did not want to upset her because an upset nurse can cause more pain through the needle.
Resting in my bed a verse of scripture came to mind. James 1:2-3, “My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience.”
With the needle came pain, but also, the medicine I need. Through pain comes my medical solution.
Dr. James L. Snyder lives in Ocala, FL with the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage. Telephone 1-352-216-3025, e-mail jamessnyder51@gmail.com, website www.jamessnyderministries.com