A wounded heart

Not many people know this about me, you kind of have to be on the inner circle of my life to recognize it, but I have a secret love for infectious disease. Ever since I can remember I've loved learning about the plague, cholera, and yellow fever. The first time I was in a hospital when I was 6 I was hooked - to me it was a huge playground, filled with the promise of adventure. I loved taking the elevator to different floors, watching all the different kinds of people that were in them. My interest in medicine has never left me, however I am still surprised that I am lucky enough to be studying within the medical field. I have such a love for helping people, getting to love on them and take their pain away. Every day I step into the hospital I am filled with such joy that I get to learn and do the thing that I love. None of my fellow students know this, but on my lunch break I walk through the hallways were the hospice patients are, and I pray over each of the dying with a well of tears in my eyes (I'm surprised one of the nurses there hasn't called me in for a psych consult). I love to go and just sit with them and hold their hands. Each week one is gone, and the bed has been filled by another, but I am thankful that I was able to whisper a prayer for them and hold their hand before they left this earth.

I love when I make a crack into a patients stone heart. I had one older gentleman who was most disgruntled about being in the hospital and was most assuredly sceptical about what I was assessing on him. He tested me with questions, but I prevailed, and by the end of the day he didn't want any one else to care for him. I have to admit, I was proud of my accomplishment.

Although I don't have nearly the amount of years behind me as most nurses and doctors, I'm already starting to struggle with having a wounded heart. I am admittedly thin skinned, and those who know me well remind me I need to get a tougher skin if I'm going to survive. But I don't want to lose my ability to feel, and I DON'T want lose my tenderness. I'm reading a book called, " The woman with the worm in her head & other true stories of infectious disease" By Pamela Nagami, M.D. Its a book filled with clinical infectious disease cases, but Dr. Nagami paints these patients' stories with elegance and respect. Entwined among the stories is the story of Dr. Nagami herself, and her journey with a wounded heart. I've cried throughout this book - moved by the courage of the patients that she treated. I can't imagine how she must have felt actually working with them. This is a paragraph that she wrote that rang true for me. It is in regards to when she had to watch an abortion, and how it was then she discovered her wounded heart -

" Rabbi Yoshua ben Levi came upon Elijah the prophet.. He asked Elijah, "When will the messiah come?" Elijah replied, "Go and ask him yourself." "Where is he?" "Sitting at the gates of the city." "How shall I know him?" " He is sitting with the poor covered with wounds. The others unbind all their wounds at the same time and them bind them up again. But he unbinds one at a time and binds it up again, saying to himself, 'Perhaps I shall be needed: if so I must always be ready so as not to delay for a moment."

I still don't understand the purpose of the suffering I've seen, but I have come to believe that I'm supposed to witness it so I can help the next patient. When I was very young I fled the city gates but I didn't find the Messiah. I came back and learned and healed by wounding, which wounded me. Then one day, all alone in a room full of people, and under glaring lights, I caught a glimpse of God. And God, I saw, was suffering, too."

If you don't understand what she is saying, that's fine. Maybe it will mean something to you in the future, it touches me though and gives me hope.

For those of you who are still searching for direction, and your place in this world, I've come to discover that that information is already inside of you - part of who you are. I've discovered that we as sinful humans don't have the emotional capacity to be passionate about every injustice, to have our hearts break over every sadness and so God places specific passions in us. I started to pay attention to what made me really angry, really sad, really passionate. Some stories would cause my eyes to well up in tears, and others I would just walk away shaking my head. Why was that? What made those stories that made me cry special? Once I started to do that God started to reveal to me in specific ways my direction. Also, often times the things that we love and are good at are part of our "calling" ( I don't really like using that word, but for lack of another it will have to do) because we know that God is a GOOD God. I walk each day with hope for the future, excited at what is ahead of me. I pray that you do also. May you discover the passion within, and journey with your wounded heart.