It was May, 1996 and our team of friends and workers in the eye hospital in Pakistan gathered in my home for a time of prayer. During the night our friends, John and Sarah had a tragedy... their son Joel had fallen out of bed and fractured his hip. Our friends Dr. Herb and Ruth Freisen were staying with us while Herb mentored and worked with us in the eye hosptial. Herb was a very experienced eye specialist who had helped establish the famous eye hospital in Kabul, Afghanistan the Noor Eye Insititue.
While we prayed I sensed a certain level of coldness or burnout in my heart. I frankly had no emotion in my heart as I prayed. I knew it wasn't right and I wanted it to change and I asked God to do something with the condition of my own heart. The prayer meeting broke up early as the Davenport's hoped to get their son flown out urgently for medical care. Things needed to move on and quickly.
Dr. Friesen got into a Suzuki truck and proceeded to back out of my driveway and asked for our iron gate to be opened. My son Joshua (age 7 at the time) began to open the gate and the truck backed up.... but tragedy struck and my life changed rapidly, painfully and even now as I write this note my heart aches with a deep and abiding pain. My back was turned in the direction of my house and away from my son Joshua and the next sound I heard was of my son breathing out and screaming in agony... Dr Freisen had not seen my son and had backed the truck into my son with the entire weight of the vehicle pressed up against his hand. His hand had been completely crushed and chaos ensued. I heard the noise from my son and virtually collapsed in shock. I am a trained ICU nurse and have seen it all but nothing prepared me for what had just happened... I was coming unglued and it wasn't pretty or helpful. I was screaming, "PULL UP, PULL UP, PULL UP" at Dr Friesen so that the vehicles weight would be put off my son. It was too late and instantly his hand was swollen in a grotesque and macabre fashion. My knees buckled and others present were able to help my son more than I could.
We did everything we could do to try to reduce Josh's pain but it wasn't much. Elevate, ice and liquid motrin only go so far and Josh toughed it out while we waited for x-rays. Keep in mind we were in the middle of "nowhere" and the local hospital was awful (we only worked on eyes at our hospital). Our neighbors had a relative who was an orthopedic Doc and I went to the hospital to see what could be done. The X-rays showed that the bones had been crushed and the prognosis was very bad. His fingers were completely crooked and would need to be manipulated in surgery. As I got to the hospital I waited in a long line and the healing of my heart began.. Yes, the healing of my heart began... Joshua's hand would have to wait. God was doing surgery on me in the line. I looked at a child with severe dehydration in front of me. My nursing knowledge kicked in and I saw a dying child right in front of me. As I held onto Joshua, I saw the world a lot differently and a heaviness of compassion and mercy grabbed my soul. I was a wounded man. It has never left me. My clinical and detached self now is overwhelmed by a level of compassion that can't be human. Joshua endured two operations over a period of weeks. I no longer saw things from a 'professional' perspective. I was now one with the wounded. By God's grace and mercy my son's hand over time was healed and he has very strong hands and his toughness persists. But me? I am not tough at all. I am a basket case of emotion and not satisfied when people suffer. I want to see people healed and to live knowing someone doesn't just want to give them medicine or an operation.... someone want to know and love them. I am a wounded healer and glad that while God healed my son, he left a mark on my heart I hope never leaves me.
Jim
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