While in rehab in Shepherd Center after
my spinal cord injury, a culture of my trach grew out MRSA
(methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus
aureus), (pronounced mer-sa), the very contagious, hard to kill superbug. My
lungs had filled with infected mucus and I wasn’t able cough.
The nurses moved me into an isolation
room. Every staff member donned yellow paper gowns, blue masks, latex gloves
and safety glasses before entering my room.
The nurses began to “cough” me. Think
one hard CPR compression only below my diaphragm along with my weak attempt to
cough. It worked so we “repeated until clear”. The first thing anyone said on
entering my room was, “Let’s cough.”
Every assisted cough shot searing pain
to both of my shoulders, and it took a month of coughing to clear my lungs. Though
still in isolation, but not coughing, my nurses came in without isolation garb.
I knew who each one was by her voice.
I knew each woman’s story of life. Their
loves, their hopes, their dreams and their desires. I knew who they were and
that I would remember many.
Earl and I returned to Shepherd nine
years later. I asked about several but only found two. One woman had cleaned my
room five days a week and had achieved her desires. She had married her
boyfriend and was working in the finance office at Shepherd.
The second woman, a new registered nurse,
had a passion for working with persons with spinal cord injuries. She had
advanced to the role of clinical coordinator for Shepherd, married and had two
sons.
I remembered a few names. Jesus never
forgets one.
Our Shepherd calls us His sheep and we
know His voice. He knows our stories from the beginning. Our loves, hopes, dreams
and desires.
“I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep
and my sheep know me” (John 10:14 NIV).
“My sheep listen to my voice; I know
them, and they follow me” (John 10:27 NIV).
In Christ,
Berta
Photo Courtesy of Free Flickr Images
