I'm Just in the Way of the Nurses

by David Kilimnick

Thoughts from a Waiting Room #16

They kicked me out of the room just now. Apparently, the hospital feels that there is more important stuff than my sitting there and staring at the screen with the colorful numbers and squiggly lines.
I have to say, they can do a better job on the screen. The colors are bland. It looks like I'm watching an Atari game of my mom's life. There has been technological advance on all fronts except for that monitor. That monitor and the blood pressure cuff. There is no way of checking out my health, other than through cutting off my circulation.
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Visiting I'm Just in the Way of the Nurses
Care and love means getting in the way of medical staff. My job as a loving son is to sit in the room and make it harder for them to change the saline sack. "You want to pull out the respiratory tube, walk around me. I am a family member. I love her."
I get it now. Their job is to save a life. I'm family. My job is to get in the way of that.

Family and Prayer Is Important
I think the physicians and nurses understand the importance of family. But they got this ego in the hospital, like they know what's best. They claim their eight years of medical school means they know about health. 
It is tough getting the message across, that your being there, talking to your loved one, not letting them sleep, is important. Especially when they think they're the ones saving them, with invasive surgery. And by the way, invasive surgery is invasive. Just letting you know that. It's a little rude.
It is tough explaining how important your prayers are, telling them, "I appreciate your understanding of the human heart and how it works, but I am saying Tehillim (psalms prayer) over here. So don't worry about the heart right now. I got it." I followed that up the other day with a, "We all like to think we know what is best? Don’t we?!... How about, you do your job, and I will do mine. You focus on the surgery. I will focus on Tehillim. Gd..." 
They get a bit skeptical when they're caring for the one you are praying for and have protocol from the doctor which tells them that this is how you save their life. And the doctor did not put Tehillim in there.

I Don't Need Medical Proof
I know my loved one can hear.
They think they can't hear because they're loading them with morphine, yelling at them, and getting no response. Is it the screaming or morphine that's making them woozy. We don't know.
I don't need science to prove my facts. And it makes my argument make a lot more sense. And now I'm starting to feel like I'm a supporter of Candace Owens. And that is the proof that my being here is important.
What I'm saying is that if you care about someone and you give them time and love, you will see stuff the doctors don't. And to that, everybody will think you're crazy. But you're normal. As a loved one, the only thing you can't see clearly is the screen. That blood pressure heart monitor has got to be updated.

Conclusion
I'm annoying. And that is love. That is care. Love gets in the way of the nurses. Care and love get in the way of people who can help. That is family protocol.

I'm going back into the room now, to sit in my chair, say some prayers, and to see if they fixed that screen.
That chair is so uncomfortable. They got a Geri chair in there right now. I believe it's there to get me out. I'm slipping all day. Geri chairs are the most uncomfortable thing I've ever sat on. And the footrest is not helping. It's just more room to slip.
These are the chairs they stick geriatric people in, who can't move. I've never seen nursing home resident not falling out. It's impossible to sit up in these. ​I got a stomach cramp trying to not slide out.
They've got to raise the footrest on these. Give some pushback against the slide. But of course, the medical staff knows best. They know how to slice open a heart and surgerise it, but they can't figure out how to make a chair that people won't slip out of. Only love can figure that out.

The medical staff wants us out. They have a job to do. And we have a job to do too. We have to pray. We have to show love. We have to get in their way.
We all have our place. Our being there for our loved ones is just as important, to get in the way of the nursing staff. To ask questions about the screen.
I still have some questions the nurse has not answered. The screen says "120." I don't like that number.

We need a Tehillim group in the ER. Got the doctors, nurses, social workers. Need Tehillim readers. I am sure if I called a Tehillim reader, they would come and answer my questions about the squiggly numbers. They would be there with me, to complain about the chance of survival screen.
The medical staff better hope we don’t relocate a rebbe’s grave to outside the hospital. All the Tehillim there will get in the way of the ER.

Yes. I have a lot of questions about that screen with the lines going up and down, telling me the chances of life.
There is no way I will ever get a heart monitor. All I would do is stare at it. I have things I have to do with my day, and there is no way I would ever get in my groceries if I was looking at that thing.
 
***Thoughts From a Waiting Room are thoughts revisited from 2019-2020 in 2026 form. LRefuah Sheleyma LKol HaCholim and shared laughter with their family and friends, bZchut Avi HaRav Yeshaya Ben Yechezkel HaLevi ZT"L vImi HaRabbanit Necha Bat Chayim Zeydel A"H LAliyat Nishmatam.