The life of someone confined to a bed, to the space within bed rails, to legs that can not walk, arms that can not move, a torso that does not bend, to questions that only yield yes and no because the mouth does not speak, and because the body can not feel and it does not sense: what is the meaning of life?
I took care of a patient like such last night and it made me sad. The last thing he needs is pity and sympathy because I'm sure he's dying for acceptance, to be treated as normal, like everyone else, but every time I see him in his bed I have pity on him. Yet in light of this, of his 'sufferings', as we would call it, he chooses to be a full code. I try to feel what he feels and to understand what he thinks but I have so much difficulty in doing so because I can't imagine myself still wanting to live.
That in itself is courage, and life held on to its highest regard. Glory to the Creator.
Because life doesn't stop when you are stripped of priviledges, not until the very last heart beat. And I say this, not because I'm some medical freak, who believes that medicine is healer and savior of all, but because I've learned that in all things God can still be glorified.
So consider all things as a priviledge, and yes, even to live.
In Christ,
E
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