It’s another night. It’s another night in the hospital. It’s another night in the hospital with a pancreatitis attack. Earlier in the day, I underwent a procedure in which a scope was placed down my throat, through my stomach and into my small intestine. A small probe was inserted up into my pancreas. Dye was injected and X-ray imaging was used to visualize my pancreas.
Almost as soon as I am awake from the general anesthesia, I am shaking in pain. I am thankful a nurse is by my side to monitor my recovery from the anesthesia. She quickly gets me some pain medication. When the medicine does not work, she calls the doctor for more medicine. The nurse explains how much pain I am in. The doctor decides this is a pancreatitis attack, and I should be admitted to the hospital for pain control. In the meantime, I am allowed 50 mcg of fentanyl every ten minutes. I have never been given or have had access to this much pain medication. Very quickly I am finally free from my pancreatic pain. This is the first time in many months that I do not have pain raging in my abdomen.
When I am transferred upstairs to the floor, I have a “sitter” who stays in my room to monitor my vitals and ventilator. The nurse quickly gets me situated. The pain medicine is starting to wear off. I ask for something for the pain. The nurse explains she has no orders for pain medicine. She leaves my room. The only thing I know to do during times of pain is to try my hardest to read God’s Word. My eyes are filled with tears. I get out my headphones and decide listening to the Bible is a better alternative than trying to read. My sitter asks me what I am listening to. I reply, “The Bible.” The sitter does not say anything, but the shocked expression on her face says it all.
Very soon, I am writhing in agony. I repeatedly beg my nurse for pain medicine. The nurse finally calls the doctor. I am prescribed a one time dose of 25 mcg of fentanyl. Since there is someone in my room, I keep my tracheostomy cuff closed, which prevents the sobs and screams from escaping up my throat and out my mouth. Only when I have to speak (and thus have to open my trach cuff), do I allow myself to give voice to the agony pulsating through my body. My sitter tells me how amazed she is that despite all the pain I am in, I do not scream or curse at my nurse. The sitter’s words bring tears to my eyes; her words are sweet nectar to my soul.
I try hard not to raise my voice at my nurse, but very soon through my shrieking, I am using a raised tone of voice. It takes over two hours for the medicine to be delivered from the pharmacy to my nurse. I am in so much pain by the time the medicine is administered, I do not even feel the drug’s effects. I beg the nurse for more pain medicine. I explain I was given 50 mcg of fentanyl every TEN MINUTES after my procedure. A one time dose of 25 mcg is a very small dose and is ineffective for the pain. The nurse refuses to call the doctor.
I shake in pain for the entire night. Around 6 a.m., the pain starts to subside. When my sitter is getting ready to leave at 7 a.m. for the shift change, she explains to me how she could not believe it took so long to get pain medication. She tells me how sorry she was I had to suffer so much and for so long. She says how she marveled at my ability to endure so much pain for such a long time. She encourages me to continue listening to the Bible.
When she leaves my room, tears stream down my face. Was I able to be a good Christian during this night of excruciating pain? Was God able to use me in this dire circumstance? I thank God for giving me a reduction in my pain. I thank Him for using my pancreatitis attack for His glory. I ask God to continue using me in all circumstances and to allow His light to shine in the midst of so much pain and darkness.
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