Overnights in the Emergency Department

During the week I am a classic stay at home mom. On fridays I work third shift. The family goes to bed, shortly after I drive to the hospital. Grab a trauma pager. Run until morning.

Imagine any heading you would read in a city's newspaper. "Teen Mom Pregnant by Rape". "Man Assaulted While Sleeping in His Own Home". "Child Hit by Car in Parking Lot, Doesn't Make It". Those are my patients, them and their families. Assessing- who are these people. What happened. Could this have been prevented. What are the living conditions. What are the social factors contributing to this incident. Do you know who did this to you? How long have you been using? Can I bring you a tissue. A coffee. A blanket. I'm so sorry for your loss.

The content is solemn but it doesn't break me. I'm a believer, I believe in the hope of the Resurrected One. But the brevity of my task threatens to unravel me. Capturing every detail for a report to be given to the homicide detective, the child protective service, the floor nurse for follow-up. I'm not good at those details. I'm naturally interested in the big picture, their stories fascinate me. I have no patience for endless intricate details, are you surprised?

I'm also too tired to pry, "exactly what nursing homes have you already been to", when a heroin addict is about to be jumped in the hallway. Yes, it's exhausting. When I think about what time it is, I want to stab my eyeballs out. Then again, I see what it looks like when people actually do that; it's not pretty.

I don't know anything about medicine, but I'm not there to save lives, or change them. I just make an Emergency Department visit 2% more bearable. Picture CSI meets Mother Teresa- that's my job. I feel that my work is bizarre, and almost too abstract to capture here. If I can clarify anything, please let me know. Eventually morning comes. I do what every other mom does- goes home, makes lunch, plays puppets, catches a nap. Don't drink and drive, people. Don't break into houses, you will get shot. Don't hang out the 6th story window. Don't beat your girlfriend- she will break your skull. But if you do, and it happens to be on a friday night in Cleveland, rest assured I'll serve you some coffee.

The Snowball Effect

These quiet snow days make me nostalgic for childhood. My siblings and I were very close, homeschooled, had nothing but time. We raised each other in a way. I have one brother. He is younger than me and I worried about him incessantly.

One night we bundled up and went outside. It started with a snowball, we rolled it as we walked. I pummeled him with routine and scripted questions, accusing him of vices, doing my motherly duty of watching over his soul. Now he is Joe;  then he was Jojo.

"Jojo, are you addicted to drugs."

"No" he would respond, like usual. "I'm nine."

"Jojo, are you having pre-marital sex?"

"I don't know what that is".

"Well have you ever stolen anything"

"I don't think so, sister".

We almost made it around the entire block, no longer rolling but pushing a snowball twice our size. When we could push it no further we left it, at the end of a walkway, and ran home shrieking. The next morning, in the midst of a math lesson, we looked out the window to find the owner of that home using a pick axe to crumble that now frozen barricade.

Now a grown man he has stayed on the straight and narrow, be it my heavy hand, an internal moral compass, or simply common sense. He's everything I had hoped he would be and more. Much like that unmoveable snow mound we created together, he's hilarious, and grounded.

No Need to Floss

    

It was dark by the time I pulled in. Baba was putting the girls to bed, and the lab was clear across town. It was narrower than I had imagined, and each station was filled with gadgets and headlights and magnifying glasses. It smelled of instant coffee. Everywhere you looked there were torches and impressions and ground stone to mix any shade of teeth imaginable.

This strange world is our new livelihood.

His work is that of an artist and a mad scientist, hand crafting porcelain crowns. He quit his day job and bought a business; the culmination of a thousand conversations about how to do ministry and family. We took a deep breath and went all in. Slowly exhaling, we watch the scenes of God's leading and provision unfold. I'm investing everything into this dream of his, believing I hold the power to unlock my husband's potential. I watch other women do it too, put their own need for security aside; there our husbands flourish, limitlessly. Someday I will cash in, there's either a crown on earth or a crown in heaven waiting for me.